Contentment Poem by Haruna Garba

Mine is that of a pipe
Of sand the insatiable soil
That of a spout
And again that of a sieve
Not at all that of the sea
What up never dries

I give Thee my thanks
Knowing it is Thee who refills
The vacuum in my little cup
With such spirit which never stays

I give Thee my thanks
For making me so modest
A canopy of contentment
That I am neither a travelers envy
Consuming no distance in a flash
Nor a buyers' pain in the neck -
A buyer almost at a giveaway
A disposer only when exorbitant it sells

So contented I am with poor sip and sap

If I should be anybody's envy
I would be that of burglars
Of fire and the waiting heirs
I am nobody's envy
Not looking at anybody in the face
And I sound no siren to all
I am nobody's grudge
Being a non borrower
Non lender of any sort
God, I give Thee my thanks
For making me neither a palm of cassava
Nor bloom or blossom
Stuff tailor-made to covet