In Search Of Futility Poem by Dimu Eric Olowo

Many a times ponder I
On the purpose of existence.
What really was I designed
To do in my brief sojourn
Here in this little globe.
Or is it still the old routine
Of acquiring a degree
And burning out my prime hours.
Labouring behind desks
Toiling round the face of time.
To've a family and provide
For them the vitals of life
Then live seven or eight decades
And end it all up, six feet below
The surface, what an irony.