Through this confederacy 
year on year 
as time journeys on 
with its earthen plinths 
we press on 

holding on, 
to reckon & witness 
when the sun ebbs away 
like the chronology of a lullaby 
sang but read from the dried-lips 
of this woman, 
tied to dirt 

As nature’s appealing 
when the sole enemy of the people is poverty 

In an upkeep, when 
even thrash is arduous to come by 
let alone to quench but breed 
to sore illnesses 
We hold onto 
our jaws for passive supports 
in our purported piety looks 

With political hegemony 
blindfolded to our plights 
we curse our stars 
literally not; 
but ‘verbally’ 
as to how we are as ‘commoners’ 

– so whatever the mudfish acquires 
ultimately will go to the crocodile. 


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