momodou jarju

(24/10/93 / mariama kunda)


They don't learn
Even when they stumble
Would they earn?
Each year they grumble
This since time immemorial
The full brown cried as essential
Is never real
Course to the sweet tongues
In reverse to their songs
Tied rope on their neck
Big belly sleeping on the deck

They sit and watch so-called master's kind
To sign stupid sheet to dwell in their mind
Moon years ago still secluding
The throng from decent living
Was when locust loot the marshland
That now refers as the refuse farmland

Who are they?
The sound scapegoats
Sheepish and slow like snails
Plunderers of public properties
The fickle fingers
Liars and loafers
Heads that don't upkeep
The throngs' promises
(Mo Tha Writer)

Submitted: Saturday, July 05, 2014
Edited: Saturday, July 05, 2014

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