And there he is,
The lost soul;
He is there again,
Wandering the streets,
Like a spooker on patrol.
He has left his family
Fell in love with the streets
His lighter, his comforter
He hasn't much to worry about
Except for the cigars he's been puffing.
Ọmọ Àdánù as he's usually called
His eyes are raging red
And smoke escaping from his mouth
And his nostrils
And one could describe him as Ṣàngó.
No worries about the future
His business is his 'Igbeaux'
He pays no bills; no rent
As everywhere is his haunt,
Like an Ọmọ onílẹ̀.
He leads a pathetic life.
He isn't at fault,
Nothing worked for him,
He's a first-class graduate,
Studied elect-elect in Unilag
But the Government had failed him.
He lost his job
Billing did not cease
Felt like he let his family down
Fell into depression
Sought refuge in drugs
He got addicted,
He got trapped
In the snare of life
He is the lost soul
He couldn't find himself any longer
The system has failed him.
The Government has failed.
2 Comments
Very nice
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