They live in the flowered estates
Where street light doesn’t wink its eye,
And taps enjoy their ceaseless service.
We live in the civilian barracks
Where mosquitoes trigger our wraths,
To begin a civil war over utility bills.
They are the tall trees by the rivers
Looking fresh, and proudly swaying
To the recent breeze from overseas.
We are the grasses in the savannah
Languishing alone in the wildfire,
Ignited by their insurgent matches.
They are the restless lips:
Sucking day and night,
The breasts of our national cows.
We are the seasonal mouths:
Who once in a season, joyfully eat
The flesh of immature fowls.
They are the fingers of the economy:
Oily pointing and giving order,
From their comfort zones.
We are the muscles of all trades:
Working late at night, and later trek
Wearily, into overcrowded rooms.
They are the selfish hoes
Claiming and heaping only
For themselves, the sands of wealth.
We are the blunt cutlasses,
Clearing the thorns left behind,
On the acres of our federal farms.
Behold, they possess all, including us
Written by: James T. Abel Adesitimi