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    By Kingsley Godstime

    Four corners the room I sat,
    Musing, how life had threatened me,
    I never had a source of joy,
    Not even a wife and my own boy.
    My life came crashing,
    Like a calabash upon an old hill.
    Stony was the path which I ascend,
    to a road should I say street descending,
    life had dealt treacherously with me,
    I have danced to its cunning strings.
    I must confess, I'm fed up,
    no destined destination I walk,
    Just have to lug my thought,
    like a poor homeless slug.
    Nobody cares about nobody,
    everyone occupied with their own thoughts,
    hunger strangling me each morning,
    have I even tasted salt?
    Well, who do I blame?
    The government or her allies?
    A Country driving me insane,
    I better run to Paris,
    before I go sanely insane.
    ©Modest King
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  • Oyin Young: Saturday, 11 March 2017 at 14:08:00
  • Label(s): Kingsley Godstime , Poems
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