My Play; Poverty's Play
And if poverty whips, largely, torments
In her barefaced snort of withering grievance.
I shall be the one, mannered by Earth's dog-wetness,
To garner my broken possession, murk and bins,
Writhe, clamber steep nigh moister Earth
From foot of lazy deities, pick the sacred mound,
Muzzle it deep against my leaking dereliction birthed
From a heightened helplessness of obligation
And speak the words of preserving ardour
From deities' bossom
As trambled Kola lobe and marooned salt
Earthed for no sprouting in rushing footfalls,
Prickled, insatiate in the belly of oblivion
I shall be the praying yam wholly unearthed
To the feet of a roasting 'adogan'
I shall be the racketeering prey, jostled
Endlessly in poverty's meaning play,
Washed- out by riches' maze
I shall be the mocking haunt lack tugs
In steep eaves of perceived redemption
poem by Oludipe Samuel
Added by Poetry Lover
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