Broom: Bunch and Strand
A Fight
It was during the raining season,
At a popular and busy junction.
There was no shed around the junction area.
Whenever it rain,
These three guys get stranded under the downpour.
The heavenly rope,
Crystal clear in appearance,
Odourless in smell,
Mercilessly beat the men like sinners that is bound for heaven.
One among them developed an idea,
He gathered palm fronts and moulds.
Like an architect he designed his building idea,
Like an Engineer he surveyed the proposed building site.
So as a builder, he built a small shed.
So one day, It rained.
The three guys ran to the shed.
One among them boasted to be the owner of the land upon which the shed is situated,
The second claimed that the palms were gotten from his farm,
The third said he constructed the shed
And in anger, they destroyed the shed.
Now the rain didn't just beat and battered them;
It flooded,
And swept them away to a new environment they are alien to.
Into the hands of Oppressors,
So they toil in unity under servitude to foreigners in the foreign land.
Never again to return to their destroyed shed.
Dead, yet sharing breathe.
A bunch of Broom, scattered into pieces...
© FERT, 2015
It was during the raining season,
At a popular and busy junction.
There was no shed around the junction area.
Whenever it rain,
These three guys get stranded under the downpour.
The heavenly rope,
Crystal clear in appearance,
Odourless in smell,
Mercilessly beat the men like sinners that is bound for heaven.
One among them developed an idea,
He gathered palm fronts and moulds.
Like an architect he designed his building idea,
Like an Engineer he surveyed the proposed building site.
So as a builder, he built a small shed.
So one day, It rained.
The three guys ran to the shed.
One among them boasted to be the owner of the land upon which the shed is situated,
The second claimed that the palms were gotten from his farm,
The third said he constructed the shed
And in anger, they destroyed the shed.
Now the rain didn't just beat and battered them;
It flooded,
And swept them away to a new environment they are alien to.
Into the hands of Oppressors,
So they toil in unity under servitude to foreigners in the foreign land.
Never again to return to their destroyed shed.
Dead, yet sharing breathe.
A bunch of Broom, scattered into pieces...
© FERT, 2015
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