FIELD OF GOLD
Stretching across the horizon is a threshold of fortunes
Where tin gods scramble in audacity through mountain dunes.
Bereft of play rules reward inspire muse tunes.
Selfishness, man slaughter are the rules of the goons;
Acting as zombies, they are careless about the other mind.
They collect pristine artifacts even but from our baren wind.
Nowhere is safe in their quest for the booty goods.
You may think grave yards are sacred but not to our tin gods;
In the chaos of their mad rush masses live in pain,
Gnawing the peasant’s hearts, they focus on pure gain.
Knowing that life is complex albeit so purely plain
I watch them in awe marveling at their plan: so vain;
Welcome to ebony land; the age old field of gold:
A place for servant- kings, coquette-queens, and audacious bold.
A place of weakened, servile masses left homeless and cold
A place where dreamers in their prime are cruelly, peanuts sold;
Welcome to the motherland of native and ancient civilizations,
Welcome to the raw sweat that enhanced modernizations,
Welcome to the land of the living, the dead and the unborn.
Welcome to the home of hopeless, conga and trombone;
Day in and day out we celebrate our fate shedding prayerful tears:
Praying that one day a hero would wipe off these tears;
But when that day comes, we shall all take up our gears;
And make this gold-field awash with assorted pricy bears;
When will that day come? As I tremble in caring fears.
Ali Baba Yakubu
18th March 2009
No comments:
Post a Comment