Hostages Poem by Yusuf Qomorudeen Olusola

Indeed; an inferno room it’s!
A pandemonium room of chaotic corner
Where hostages scream and groan
The lack scream for shinning but transient wealth
The wealthy groan for more
The small brutalize the big
In their hunt for materialism

The blind join the search
And chased relentlessly after
A common mongrel
A designed printed paper
Myopic dreams of next ten decade
When tomorrow, by his creator
His soul shall be claimed

The groaning grows much weary
As the inferno room demands more trial
From already-screaming hostages
Behold and Chase me much more!
“Said the printed paper to the blind”
So I might drive thee
Into the melancholic miserable cave
Alas! screamers will soon disperse and march
One by one to that silent but sullen hall
Where suffering and agony reach no more
And so his kinsmen will bid him: R.I.P