Dry and ugly,
Shrinky…
A tumble thin stalk
Easily blown.
Ashen and producing
Flash when burnt,
Dingy and frail.
Poverty adorns me;
Wind greedily pushes me
To a place of no destiny
Grisly and futile
So, all the night tide
I keep on shaking
For I have no nutrient to live by,
Flirting and fragile as a feather
Wishing I was a leather.
This poem was published in the January 2022 Edition of the WSA Magazine.
Read – The Pages I Flipped – A Poem by Olayinka Mogboyin, Nigeria
Recommended Posts
