The Change Poem by kedrix Udjoe

The Change



The field we played has grown
Our rest room; a bushy place
Our farmlands a dessert
The hypochrite has done soo

Our beloved home;
A dumping place,
Dumping the hunger killed
The wicked grass covers them
Are we still in fight?

The crier's message a terror,
Terrorizng the ears that hears
The message it carries
And the gong stoped talking

We are trapped,
Our children cry,
A cry, morning the trapped
When shall it all end?

The rain has fallen,
On banana peals it rained
But never slippery
The trumpet sound
While we were feasting
The sun sets ablase our farm

The chicken looks for the chick,
The lions in topsy-turvy
Life has nothing to offer again
Listen to our cry oh heavens!

When we die,
Throw us not to the bush
That we might not be pearced,
By its wicked pin.

Bury us not by the river side
Lest be washed away
And if we die
Bury us at our play ground
In our home.

Saturday, February 11, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: hopeless,lost,nostalgia
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