The Wanderers Poem by Gbolagade Taiwo

We are the wanderers,
Wandering in a furious fallowing forest
With fear healthy in our matrons' breast'
We are all on our best, looking tearfully raunchy

In lines we go
Even though, we have nowhere to go
The forest is kinda lonesome
We are no more 'BEAUTSOME'

We are fathered not
Dreams shattered? Yes!
Unscatterd, thus we remain
We dance to the music of your riffle
Miles ahead, we are baffle'

We are the ones,
Whose dreams are left in their palms
We are left to device our alms
Tattered cloth is our coat of arms
Our GREATS are dying on our farms

If colour is veritably a barrier,
Then the crying pens are yet to see it all
If blood is truly the bond of love,
Then these men are not from my soil
Our men are killed by their blood
Murdered on their soil
Their blood melted like a coil
WE products are saved by the Queen's Men.