Its me and God in the same socks.
Why lord over me when he cannot provide,
Then an object of ridicule amidst folks
I am tired of promises, wants has refused to subside.
Every other time i query; no answer.
When i cry not even the slightest sound.
Even when i shout its my echo which abound.
In the midst of this, i thought him no father.
When i got tired, he spoke with his trembling fervour,
'I should have allowed you to die.'
'Continue to query me and even sigh.'
'When i said ask and i'll give, not with rancour.'
(c) ilori Oluwatomiwa
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem