john chizoba vincent

(18 may 1990 / Aba, Abia stae)


Look at the way he walks
With a torn tattered cloth and broken spirit.
His soul weeps all day long as he
Watches keenly how lizards and rats feast merrily in his house
Upon the strong hands of poverty on him.
Rough and sorrowful life has he seen through out his life
And no soul cares to help.
His dreams and aspirations went away and
He is rejected and frustrated by men.
Thro and fro, thro and fro, he match all alone
Facing the oddities of life and yet no hope seen by.
Food ran away from his table and,
water became his enemy in the long run.
Tolling all day and yet no fruit yield
He becomes the barren tree beside the riverine.
No money to buy those things which are required by the body.
He is not seen in the public and never allow
To speak when others has spoken.
Yet he believed in days to come it shall be well
In his tribulation and suffering in the hands of poverty.
The ordinary man entangled in the hands of shame.
The parrots sing every sun rise to mock him,
While the cock crows each morning to remained him of
His wretched life which torment him.

Submitted: Thursday, May 01, 2014

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