This is a simple poem about a man who found himself suffering in the midst of plenty.

flow of rain,

in the desert,

flowing stubborn, and dreadful,

across the eastward part,

of Nigeria.


I farm 3,000 kilometers of land,

but thou succeeded in,

washing away my planted crop;

oh what a corrupt world,

that pity not the poor.


I can't rise up,

for the custom of poor,

is against me.

I searched for food,

but i found not.



I departed; rest on the other stone,

but, sleep run away from my eyes;

for i have not eaten.

I sat under the tree,

and decided;

whether stolen by night,

or stolen by day,

but there i was,

until, i found no success.


I when to the gulf stream,

and i fish towards the end,

of the rivers;

but i caught no fish,

for i was feeble.


When death near me,

i dream about ignorance;

oh ignorance, why thou has no cure?

i stir up my clothe,

for i was about to die.



I look toward the fermement of heaven,

that he may judge, betwixt us both,

then i asked;

what is my tresspass?

what is my sin?

what have i done so foolishly,

that thou departed from me?.

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