Written by Olatunbosun David
Beside this road once stood the kiosk that fed the masses
When the nation turned sour.
The petty trader dreaming
“To my children hangs the future”.
But the tyrant kings
Condemned to death this kiosk that supplied the daily manna,
And planted in its place,
Flowers, which adorn the lawns.
The cruel kings in the royal might
Throw the children also, into black jungle of destitution,
That the coming morrow may never be theirs
But a good son of petty trader I am
Thus I’ll accept my fate and be contented.
Truly now, I stagger with my begging bowl,
Yet, a man’s bowel can adjust
To a long time hunger.
I believe you know as well, brother,
The journey to a better place is very far,
Even though it be blessed with plenty,
Yet, I’ll stay here, since I know not to get there.