My House

My house,
I am living in a tradition house.
When people see me on the street,
They laugh at me.

The grasses cover my house.
Rich people are happy to see me struggle.
When it is very cold,
I use ten blankets to be warm.

When it is raining,
I am going to sleep in the Cave.
When it is very hot, my house is a shadow
place.

Why is Africa so rich but so poor?
Why these people in a hut and the others in a flat?
Why Africa is so rich
But millions of people are poor?

Why is poverty still prominent in Africa?
Is our bad mindset reason for our regress?
No! And no again,
What is then?

We are locking up in the huts.
My house is on top of the diamonds
And gold, but I am so poor.
Have I not right to enjoy the products from my land?

I am the owner of the petrol dam
Nevertheless, I do not have right to use it.
Am I free man or a prisoner?
I am clever like others but I am voiceless.

Therefore, disgrace and heartless operate.
A hut is not the house of my choice.



By Alfonso II Warally. Chris
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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It as so painful when we fail to enjoy the fruit from our lands.
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