What Now?
Isn’t This Hell For A Believer?
Isn’t This Nakedness For The Textile Owner?
Isn’t This Fruits For The Promiscous Bride?
This Is Barreness For The Virgin Bride
So What?
Is This Not The Tale Of A Caged Potential?
Isn’t This The Tale Of The Abbatoir Owner;
Diagnosed With Kwashiorkor
Isn’t This Some Juxtaposition
This Is Affluence From A Church Rat
What Can Your God Do?
Isn’t This The Tale Of A Cat On It’s Back?
This Is The Tale Of That Fellowship Brother
That Counsellor;
That Sin Counsels Itself
Isn’t This You?
Isn’t This Hypocritical?
Should I Be Writing This To You,or Myself?
Isn’t This Samson?
A prosy prose for deity to mourn,
As the hunger stricken wobbles the ground.
Oh! the old retinues that feed besides our ribs.
Come again with their unbearable tax payers,
While the labourers' stomach rumble!
The ignorant chieftains stare from above,
While the Kwashiorkor kids parade the streets!
Farmers clank their basket and hoe,
For nothing to bring homewards when the farms never yield.
As the hard labour tastes no fruit,
Wife and daughter, are forever famished.
The sailor that despoil us,
Snatch the bouquet of our feast.
As we wallow in our hollow labour?
Leaving us despondent at the edge of the farm,
Oh! We are made for you to drain,
When the basket of yam fully stored in there yard.
The old retinues release starvation from its dungeon,
As hunger flay around street, whipping!.
The rise of commodities in the Bazar,
A loaf is bought at high price.
And the grain is untouchable!
This is a prosy prose for deity to mourn,
How housewives turn to modern beggars,
While the toddlers sleep with void bellies and empty jars!
distended bellies
on limp legs
eyes round like zeroes
of unspent billions
of the world's richest
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.