Destiny In Our Hands Poem by Tony Adah

A pauper remains at the mercy
Of the alms giver
It is so with the pawn which begs
The player for the freedom to move
The said that when the palatial merriment
Brims with edibles; the orphan's ribs expand
He smiles with bubbles that soon fizzle.
They told us that freedom is coming
That soon we shall have flesh
Added to our bones;
Now it is certain that freedom
Is not given on a platter of gold.

The nobles and the kings
Pour confetti on their bloated loot
The common men are carrying placards
Above their heads
And that's the only way the state of the nation
Can change;
No hot water hose or bullets
Should withhold freedom from them
The iron bears the heat of the hearth
And become steel
This is the only way
Freedom will fall on the heads
Of the those consigned to the periphery
Of the earth.