I Am That I Am Not
Art rejoices through my special handy exhibition
but a parent’s call for a prestigious profession makes me freeze.
I’m simple with a mind so soft and a hand so helpful
siblings dive into the pool with liberty to put my charity to a tease.
My happiness, my pride, my life and my child,
out of wed luck, she exists but religion demands I call her niece.
The path to greatness and narrow road to this high placement has been solo
but now a baptized celebrity to manage so many friends like bees.
Enjoying what I had sweat for with the liberty to be cheerful or not,
refusing the society’s wish to give half of that, tags me with a moral disease.
Not conforming to the luxurious flaunting of the class of my colleagues
condemns me to a foul-smelling stain in the brotherhood like feces.
A constantly smiling boss, so gentle and understanding
uncharacteristic freedom, my subordinates disrespectfully request a lease.
Living up to the standard of the public, I always try to please,
it’s so tiring and fatal with the media in possession of my keys.
Negotiating a diversion to the demands of the environment
subjects me into a suitable slave for the satisfaction of others.
I extract my mind, limbs and heart in philanthropic donation
what then would be left is worn out remnants of slaughtered geese.
Selfishness is a good control mechanism in a crude world of opportunists
I’ll use that to protect my happiness, loyalties and peace.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016
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