My Play, Poverty's Play

Written by: Oludipe Samuel

And if poverty whips, 
largely, torments
In her barefaced snort of 
withering grievance.
I shall be the one, 
mannered by Earth's dog-
wetness, 
To garner my broken 
possession, murk and bins, 
Writhe, clamber steep nigh 
moister Earth

From foot of lazy deities, 
pick the sacred mound, 
Muzzle it deep against my 
leaking dereliction birthed
From a heightened 
helplessness of obligation
And speak the words of 
preserving ardour
From deities' bossom

As trambled Kola lobe and 
marooned salt
Earthed for no sprouting in 
rushing footfalls, 
Prickled, insatiate in the 
belly of oblivion
I shall be the praying yam 
wholly unearthed
To the feet of a roasting 
'adogan'

I shall be the racketeering 
prey, jostled
Endlessly in poverty's 
meaning play, 
Washed- out by riches' 
maze
I shall be the mocking 
haunt lack tugs
In steep eaves of perceived 
redemption.