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.