The Tax Collectors
Still not done with our kingdom
Ours is peopled by the low, the high
With abundant wealth that surround us
We still munch the stench of poverty
Like we swallow our daily ”Garri”
Though still in our Master’s Garrison.
Taken aback became my ordeal
When I saw the boys in the area
I wept for them the “Area Boys”
They are the condemned, the hopeless
The wretched, poverty-stricken, the destitute
Turned hoodlums and Tax Collectors
How do we say of them the forceful Tax Collectors?
The ones that saw a laptop for the first time
I was besieged by them as they sight the box in my hand
Shocked, as they told me not to camera them again
For people “camera us” with it for registration
Still in our kingdom,
Millions still dines with illiteracy
Ignorance has eaten deep into our fabrics
Fourty-seven years after cutting our teeth
Our senses still blurred with poverty
We can hardly drink “Garri” twice a day
Hunger they made our friend without our consent
Starvation they made our life-long companion
Misery, they made the daily toga of old and young
Shall we still stand akimbo watching helpless?
Alayande Stephen T.
02.29am
3rd February 2007
NB-For Area Boys at Mile 12 depicting the high level
Of educational degneracy of the Nigerian populace.
Copyright © Alayande Stephen | Year Posted 2007
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