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Poem

If we decided to till our farms,
They don't care to help us with their arms
We are hungry while they are in satisfactory
Is only food we always battle for
We discover our fate while striving for it
They say we act skulduggery toward them

Every rainy season we hope for fertilizer
Which is among their tool during campaign
We don't get it without chuckling our pennies
Despite it gets to our hands
It must contain fine sand
It never yield the farm as we want
Time for harvesting they increase
the fuel price.
The implements they promised are there
in their farms working for them
We only use our inherited method to
harvest and process our crops

Everyday we are on food
We don't know the timetable for it
They have their own timetables
Whatever we hit in the morning,
We only install it without asking.
On their timetable they depend
In the morning they slot slices of wheat
And hot semi-liquid of refined beverages.
While we slot rough slabs of maize
And diluted of fermented pap

While lunch they eat white softy foreign particles and big fleshy vowels
While we swallow drenched cup-son
Which drains our body fluids.
It's only when we are lucky that we could
eat our broken softy particles that let fresh consolidated gems.

During supper theirs is the zenith
Ours is the lagged with no tastes
They eat with the intention of making
their bodies fine and smooth
While we eat just to daze the hunger
that kills us.


Their food's responsibility is embedded
in our country's budget while ours is
in our hands and powers of our muscles.
If they eat their food, they jump, dance and even take themselves on marathon
While if we eat, we only get horizontally
And let our souls to go and rest.

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