MA (7th February / Lagos, Nigeria)


Alone in the world of writs

I stand alone

To mockery because my shoes are worn,

My suit torn.


Because I refused to invest my time

In vanity of men’s wealth

The relentless treadmill of materialism.

The infinity of human thoughts are vital to me

While friends and colleagues

Constant in the mad rush for avarice


When I speak against societal ills

Paid writers mock at me

And call me ‘fool’!

My mind, preaching constant messages of irrelevances

Because I will die a writer.

No money,

No friends,

No foe.


When intelligent comrades backslide

into a reverse and praising of societal tyranny.


When vanity of fame and temporal gain

Reduce men of honour

To a loose dissolved state of lies.


When the courage for truth

Falls to a beggarly withdrawal for fear


When mass comrades reduce intelligence

To cheap Trade by Bata.


When moneybags employ friends

In the service of sly.


When kings and kingdom

Turn greater minds to lesser scribe.


When hunger, pain, loneliness

Stare in the face

For uncommon stance.


Let lies increase

Vanity multiply

Comrades compromise

Hunger kill

Clothes burnt

Impoverished me be

With no friends

No follower

And in the grave

Just like I came,

Alone, Alone.

User Rating: 4,1 / 5 ( 5 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

Don't tell me you expect something else from the people...they forget you way too soon you might not find the time to forget them sooner, yes too soon...but you don't seem to have no followers and friends for what you write comes from the depths of your heart I suppose and that will certainly lead to something. You know, sometimes I too, feel that I will die unknown, with my poems never read by anyone, but what else do we have to expect in this world full of people, bones and arms and legs everywhere...
Taking my breath away with simplicity and power in one air felt swoop. warmly adrienne