The Braggarts Poem by OTONYE DANIEL

We are the bleeding battered brambled bushes from the gory gruelsome wars of the Irokos..
We are braaivleies from barbercues of the chefs..
We are the dried gormless gourds the tattlers tattle about..
We hold wine but never drink it, our mastdrs take them from us and leave us empty..
The hefty hecklin brays of exploitation won't let us live..
We are the ragged wagging tongues habiting under-bridges..
When morning's mouth make love to the sun; we are those who watch with envy..
We remember our lost loved ones who recognise us not from warring wars of the Irokos..
Yes! We fought the fight, we vanguished the vultures, came back with victory..
To lov and caress the brooding booing poverty..
That mocks and taunts and haunts and tucks us to bed..
Our plates tell our stories, we've lost arms and legs, every one of us lost a body part..
Defending fellow men, serving her, our beloved country, our heart..
The cries of coins denting our begging plates, that's of joy, the remind us of the songs of grenades..
We are from the good goodly warring days..
We are just below the middle-class, nay! A lil farther from the saif-class..
We are the bragging bourkes of social hierachy..
At night we watch and laugh as the nightly-humans pass..
We are the idle watching watchmen of the streets..
You come to us for luck and aid, You need us, we love our job..
We are the ragged smiling men with stretched out plates..
We are the one-eyed no-eyed one-legged un-legged one-armed no-armed proud satisfied men who smile and look at you..
Now, give us our daily bread, just dropp a penny..