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Was life a colour chrome 

And I were to have a pick, 
I would pick Green: 
Pure fertile nature, 
Symbol of recilience. 
Neither is life a chrome, 
Nor do I have a pick. 
It’s just as it became: 
Black and White; 
Ups and Downs; 
Good and Bad.

If fortune was sickle-harvestable, 
And I were a farmer with the sickle, 
I would have my barn of it filled 
And share fortune like the dust. 
Neither is fortune a crop, 
Nor am I a farmer with the sickle. 
I am just who I’ve become: 
Busy, tired, smiling poet. 
Busy chasing after the ends; 
Tired straightening the bends; 
Still smiling, hoping. 
Who says I don’t know what I want? 
I want greeness. 
I want clean fortune.
I want Paradise.

Watch the audiovisual of this poem here. 

Benjamin (BenBam) Bamidele J. (Nigeria

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