To my love in faraway land,
Land of star and moon,
Helled and empty …
You have found I not there.
I write to you,
Before the wind blows my rags,
And whirl it to your emerald,
Let me tell you I’m of the slum.
Before the news shows me garbaged,
Picking and eating,
Let me tell you I’m poor.
Before my head appears on your dp,
And friends scorn you for my head,
“He’s a jobless handicapped…”
Let me tell you, I’ve got no legs.
Let the gossip not gossip me,
I have gossiped my self
So you won’t frown I don’t shop,
Would you still love me?
Akinsimoye Samuel O.(Da Scribe)