Poor Death Poem by Ayodeji Oje

Death,
why art thou so clean like pigs in mire
why stoop so high to take away babes
thrown away like the trash of trash
left to be cuddled by dirt
awaiting your cold verdict?

Death,
Art thou now dead?
Why canst thou murder murderers before their murderings?
Art thou now at two a penny?
How long will you dance to thecold blooded tunes of the wolves in southern Kaduna?
Art thou no mind of your own?
O poor man!
For once liberate thyself from the whims of the wicked
else, I shall resolve that thou art died.