Futility Poem by Divine Mbutoh

Bend down the fleshy leaves
By your ears to wade off the noises
Of life, till ye find thy true worth.
Life is nothing more than a confused
Crossroad of maze,
Intertwining at every bend hitherto
Thought a widening gyre to Eldorado.

Shield thyself from the worries
Of vaulting ambitions and let
Your cup of success brims like
The gentle droppings of oil in a
Calabash.

A crowd is a river of confusion
Wherein no identity is true to itself,
For sooner than the vibrant glare
Becomes a well of tears when
Solitude seek.

Keep your pace to thy nature,
For though the snail may sluggish
It gets great things accomplished.
For life after all, it a lousy gong
Of futility.