Like these innocent children,
We gathered submitting our rights
To you, these honourable men
Who have led us to this place of plights.
.
Lo, you silently swindle our treasuries;
You dwell in paradisal affluence.
Still uncontented with these greedy glories,
You decieve us without conscience.
.
Alas! Eat and eat and chunder.
Alas! Drink and drink to turd.
While pretty poverty sweeps us asunder,
While we can not afford dry bread.
.
Lo! Eat to oversatisfaction.
Lo! Drink to overcomplacency.
And shatter our dreams and mission,
And delude us with untrue transparency.
.
Your affluent quaints in riches billow;
Our children brutally orphaned.
And our sadness in breeze billow,
But your loots are what you have planned.
.
Desport yourself! Peril plays at your doors,
Predicaments under your quaints dwell.
Heaven keeps mute, and gently measures.
Your sorrow shall echoe like the ringing bell.
Joseph Oladehinde Ibikunle
What a prophetic poem. The gluttons will vomit soonest. I like the poem, great write
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There you go again! Nice work, Kunle.