The Calling Poem by Akintola Akindele

Lonely in the middle of the field,
I stood alone,
With my last breath,
Receiving the wind,
Right to left,
East to west,
All my families taken away,
One after the other,
I stood helplessly,
As little children came,
To pluck away my seed,
Our future of existence,
Just to throw at each other,
I cried but couldn't cry,
We are wiped out,
Just for human play,
No one to share my sorrow with,
Here I am waiting for my calling.