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The streets are littered with sick crumbs and feeble flakes,
the children are starved with well-fed hunger
the adults are crumbling like castles without stakes.
It all seems to be traced to a lineal blunder.
The babies are kidnapped by malnutrition,
suffering has grown so fat on their tiny skins.
No physician seems to proffer a proper prescription,
for the city and penury are glued like Siamese twins.
Thus a black baker was sent from the skies
with a wonder pen to bake delicious lines
to feed the hungry, to put a dream in their eyes,
and rejoice their sore souls with pleasant rhymes.
His bread is rich and culturally black.
Wisdom, tact and fact, it does not lack.
Its riddles are plain, you need not frown,
some lines are funny; you might think him a clown.
This is black bread from the oven of a baker.
Enjoy the honey-tact to be a nourished partaker.
His oven is a gift from his ex-wife- Rebecca,
whom was stolen by an envious caretaker.
David O. Olusanya
When the moon walks on your heart,
And the world is all an art;
It is a priceless portion poetry-
A poet's song of liberty.
Don't judge me by my breed;
I'm just a thriving seed.
I need to grow,
I need to glow,
When shall I dance to my own heart beat,
And cease to become what you believe?
Set me free and let me live,
Ere my time fade bit by bit.
Come and eat. My bread is ready,
I have baked it with my time.
It is brown and bromate free,
You don't have to pay a dime.