The Rag Man Poem by Olorundare Tiwatope

He is unruly
For his life, is solely his
He eats whatever he wants
And adorn himself with whatever he sees
Perhaps he wants so little or none

He was not nailed down by the juries jargon
nor by the overwhelming tax,
he was de franchised
So that he becomes his self king
And build his palace to rest his legs not his head wherever and whenever the night cast upon him

He witness every intervals
that breaks off
the night from dawn
He has no word, no silence and no thought, he pokes and speak to every passerby
And vex at their replies

He is happy, perhaps the happiest in is lonely world, no children to ache is head
Nor wife to fuel his fury
No sweet tomorrow near his mind
To flavour with sweet seasoning thought

He meditates loudly and
ceaselessly to himself
Maybe he thus plan is own life in his lonely wood?

He smiles, when the country weeps
Celebrating everyday in his sole world
He drinks his water from the gutters
And his breads are not from
The sweat of his brow


Two shoes of various size and colours
Protects his feet from heat
Just like the pair of fancy shoe of
Others that are far near to him

Whatever he do, he do right
no sacred place to visit,
NOr does he needs a prayer to say,
He is a god that worship no god
In his world he is perfect, and he looks upon others with imperfection