Copyright © 2023 Olushola Oludotun

All rights reserved. No part of this poetry anthology may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except
in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain
other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

For permissions requests, write to the author, addressed "Attention:

Permissions Request," at the email address below:

olusholaoludotun@gmail.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.
 Table of contents
Child, you have to do it now. 5
The feet. 9
You do, so you are. 10
Akinkoju! 11
All gave some. 15
Stand fast 17
At the crack of dawn 19
Who the gods will destroy. 21
Once upon a time. 23
Shall we separate the boys from the men? 26
On the road. 28
Adventurer Folu. 30
My time is for growth. 31
The man of the people. 33
Adebimpe! 36
The ladder of success. 39
The flow. 40
This semester 41
 I was here 43
The man who said no. 46
Rusty 49
The rugged path 51
Ain’t no playing 53
The man who died without honor. 55
Three things. 59
Industry and indolence 62
The people who fought for freedom 63
But birth Chaos. 63
 Child, you have to do it now.
Child, you have to do it now.

Set your marshmallow feet on the

Granitic pathway of life, unabashed.

That the pressures of life

Do not demulce your resolve.

Let nightfall be your companion,

Climb the stairways, adamantine.

That the songbirds of the morning

Be your cheerleader.

Praising your resoluteness

When all around think you mad.

Child, you have to do it now;

In your days of juvenescence;

Marked with passions of an ideal;

Of bustling dreams,

When all around you revels in pleasures

Of pains, and bask in dazzling mirage,

Of a life of conviviality that never comes!

Drown the sadness and emotions,

That beclouds your progression,

Non-bow to the mob that demands

Conformity; A guild that guides in

The art of mediocrity.

Believe not in the hope of a

Rose-garlanded life.

Sacrifices make

The child the master of the man.

Wait not for afflatus, but be engaged

To urgency of work-done. Then

Muses will whisper in your ears.

Hold sacrosanct the hopes of

Your loved ones. Never forget their act

Of kindness. Take the warrior stance

At the crack of dawn. As the prayer

Of your mother be the excitant

That stimulates your hackneyed days:

Child, may you never walk on the day

When fools congregate on the road

Seeking comradeship. Neither will

Mediocres be your guardian.

Child, you have to do it now.

By and by juvenescence fades,

Like cold in summer, or heat in harmattan.

Then strength wanes and a new life whispers,

Welcome.

Child, you have to do it now.

For the time comes when it can't be done.

A delay on your part is denial.

Eonian regrets will be the spouse of

Him that put to tomorrow what could

Have been done yesterday.

Child, you have to do it now!

 The feet.

Wherever the feet are placed,

It complies. The child that strives,

To walk will move with men.

Whatever path one finds himself on,

He had it coming for where the feet

Is placed, it complies.

You have what you look for,

And conquer with the stance

Of a warrior. The indolent is

Not one to see at dawn.

 You do, so you are.

Life happens to man as he does,

To life.

You do, so you are!

Striving machinations bears

It fruits for the man so engaged.

You do, so you are

Is the reason, a whining life

Life never winds up on the

Road of success.

Folded arms bears

Fumbled dreams,

As you do, so you are.

 Akinkoju!

Akinkoju is bereft of somnolence,

Benevolence eludes him, it seems

His birth was a mistake and his country

An error.

The muses of failure whisper to him;

Akinkoju you can't make it, look at your friends

What makes you think you can ever be like them? That is
why your father hates you.

Tossing and sighing characterize his nights.

Dry days and wet nights, hackneyed living and

And San-satisfaction is the definition of his living.

Would to God that crumbs be available for mastication, so he can

survive?

Even that is a mirage.

 He woke up this morning, san comfort, san money.

He zoned into the land of reveries since he has

No other place to go. After reveling in the hopes of a better

tomorrow.

Nothing could be his companion but tears.

The creases on his face were bored by the inundation from his
eyes.

But something whispers:

Tears are for babies,

Worries are for fools,

Life will always bow down

To the courageous.

He turned startled and requested the voice to appear what he saw

shook his destiny.

It was an apparition with his visage and form

Bearing the presages of the future.

Akinkoju! Be not a daydreamer,

Daydreams are the exercises of fools

To shirk work. Work is the panacea

To poverty, the pathway of fruition!

What man fold his hands, observe

The rains and hides under a duvet

When he ought to strive. He will

Encounter silence and scorn when

He speaks in the assembly of men!

Akinkoju! Give it all it takes

Give it all you know!

The valley of death is where the

Indolent lives, there he freezes to

Death because he has embraced

The cold of alibis.

When a man says yes, the land also

Say yes and bring forth fruit.

But when the man is baffled with

Lack of sophisticated tools

The land grows barren.

 Akinkoju! Give it all it takes!

Your mother named you Akinkoju;

The courageous one, so you can

Always go forward, never look back!

Listen to the song of birds and the whisper

Of twilight; you were born to be great.

Work your hands to the bone!

Akinkoju give it all it takes and be brave!

Akinkoju wipe his tears and shouted into the wind:

The slaughterhouse of failure is not my destiny!

I was born to be great. Never again will I be mocked!

I was not born to be defeated!

I will give it all it takes, I will give it all that matters till I can say
I gave my very best
 All gave some.

Some gave some

Others gave all

The majority held back

And so the culture of 10% notables was set in motion.

Some did as they were told

Others went the extra mile

The majority were recalcitrant

So relevance became a mystery that few can unravel.

Some bleach the spots on their skin

Others slough their tainted skin

The great majority tattooed their blotched skin

And so character deficiency became a norm.

Some did what they ought to when it was convenient

Others wouldn't hesitate to live on the altar of sacrifice

The majority found an alibi why it can't and shouldn't be done.

So, frustration married that generation.

 Stand fast
The land does not deny the emergence of Iroko,

Hard grounds break not the farmer's will, but his

Plow break the early morning earthworm and

Buries seed, earthed for life.

The land obeys him who plows the hardest,

And labors till nightfall.

As the Sequoia fully grown

Provides shade for all, so does all seek succor

In the house of him that toils all night.

Thirst does not befriend the fish in water,

Neither does it deny the fish its place in life.

Life will not deny you, child, when you work the hardest and the
smartest.

As the mountains make way

For the rushing ocean, so does a man find his place in this life.
Say to him that stand, to stand fast and to hold fast.

Birth comes after the death of the earthed corn.

Be not be deterred by bitter-leaf bitterness of life,

Sweetness follows the juice.

 At the crack of dawn
At the crack of dawn,

Set your foot on the dog-wetness of

The earth.

From aurora to smokefall,

Meddle not in the affairs of men

Neither gives place to idleness.

A life of folded hands,

Is a life of it could have been.

The farmer who folds his arms

When the hoe is used to make

Paths for squirrels and dug the earth

For life, will keen at twilight 'that farm could

Have been mine'

At harvest, he will cover his face for shame.

From aurora to smokefall

Your hands do not fold.

Marvel not at the greatness of folks

Society deemed great

Nor compare yourself to them.

Spurned the thoughts that you cannot

Be better than good.

For greatness comes not by

Luck nor woolgathering

But by conscientious assiduous work

Till the kidney is desiccated,

And the hands are worked to the bones.

For the spire conquered by men

Were not caused by luck,

But by hard work.

 Who the gods will destroy.

Why work when you can play?

Is the mantra of the sloth.

But the man whom the gods would destroy

Will heed to it like a dog who won't heed

The hunter's call.

Tomorrow is there why kill oneself?

Is the slogan of the sluggard.

But the purposeless will live by it

Like a sheep led to the slaughter,

Deceived with honey.

Tomorrow might be late do it now,

Is the warning of the elder.

But a man who will lead a life of

What a person should not be will never

Heed.
Who the gods will destroy,

They first make him think he has all the time.

 Once upon a time.

Once upon a pair of TikTok and Twitter accounts,

There lived a lad in a country under the azure skyway,

Where people of color may walk on the highway of victory,

Below it is the golden lagoon larger than Murrays.

Which roar triumphs after years of oppression.

With its independence, her denizens rose against every aggression.

The lad lived in oakwoods,

Where citizens indulge in reveries of beautiful airways.

He was the beloved of all the city girls;

The blood of every party.

Never a dull moment with him.

No one shilly-shallies like he does because there's tomorrow,

He dilly-dallies every enterprise till he becomes the king of

cunctation.

Tomorrow he will lead the way for all to follow. But for now, he shall
reign in majesty.
When his peers accosted him that his train was moving backward
while theirs was

Going forward. He pitied them, they were blind." What a sad way to
live life?" He would

Always say, "has there ever been a time hard work pays?"

Is not that he is not hardworking or he doesn't have ambitions like his

peers. But they are blind

And jealous of him. He will be king tomorrow. There's time.

"Everyone of 'em suckers will come genuflecting to me and I'm gonna

take 'em canes and whup their asses" He consoles himself.

Tomorrow is there he will work when it is time.

Tomorrow is there he will build his business and become a billionaire.

Tomorrow is there he will build an empire.

Tomorrow is there he will be settled and marry a beautiful wife.

Tomorrow he will be king.

He would have become the king of his generation because he was

destined for greatness.

But his long-lived dream of coronation never came to fruition.

He never saw his tomorrow

His tomorrow died yesterday.

On his gravestone were engraved the most inscrutable words ever pen
by mortals:

Died at 18 buried at 50.

Survived by debts and regrets.

 Shall we separate the boys from the men?

After a long day famished, san money, san comfort,

The city boy went out to muse with the elders discussing

Under the Iroko tree.

He bowed his head in greetings but never groveled.

One of them said to him "you are now a man"

He flashed his city smile and nodded in concession.

The most vociferous amongst them asked him;

"City boy, what makes you a man?"

"Well," he responded, "I'm not the least amongst

My peers. All the city girls want to have me. That makes me

A man". He explained feeling proud of himself.

The elders couldn't control the spasms,

They found themselves sprawling

On the floor laughing.

"City boy," the chief elder spoke, "what makes one a man is not

The single pendulum bob dangling between one's thigh.

Apes have a bigger bob. What makes one a man is the

Ability to keep your head above the water when life wants

To drown you. It is to stay true to your purpose even when it is

Sheer drudgery. It is to keep moving when life doesn't make sense.

It is never to relinquish leadership to failure but to give in to courage.

It is to live a life you will reminisce about in your old age. It is a life
of honor.

It is to be intelligent but never arrogant. The number of girls you have

doesn't

Make you a man.

City boy, are you a man?"

He shook his head.

So shall we separate the boys from the men?

 On the road.

On the road to greatness

In the land of relevance

Under the azure skyway,

There a man must be manly.

Never in thrall to inertia.

None inebriated from repose.

On the road to mastery

In the land of the living

Under the lazuline skyway

There a woman must be brave.

Never cowered by conventions.

None be given to somnolence.

 Of priority

The village fool was asked how one could be a success.

He said, "it is by doing the right thing at the right time and the
skillfulness of keeping the main thing the main thing."

The villagers were startled; once in a blue moon, a saphead would

utter wisdom that rivals those of the wise.

But the village fool went on doing the opposite of what he taught,

His son asked, “Father, why didn't you keep the main thing the main
thing? You assured us it was the key to the cave of success.”

"Son, because it is easy to make the unimportant the main thing than
to keep the main thing as the main thing. Here's why a fool is a fool
despite the wisdom he utters. What say you boy?"

“Never to be like you, father.”

 Adventurer Folu.

Behold the extraordinariness of Folu the adventurer,

More fascinating than the anomalies of nature,

Succinct to call it preternatural that he

Should know what would take him to where

He desires to be.

But never does it because of his feeling

He'd rather revel in the goodness of the present

Than to strive for the best of his expectation,

Perhaps he wasn't listening when his mother

Told him, "the enemy of the best is the good"

Yet he wonders why his quotidian friends have the

Best he desires. But life chose to give

him the good.

 My time is for growth.

In the days of juvenescence

When the ambiance is frescoes

Of pleasure,

Forays of idleness,

Hackneyed days suffused with

Risqué jokes, binge-watching,

Somnambulant in the day,

Nocturnal aided by caffeine,

Whilst the novitiate realizes

There is life after youth

I use my time to grow.

In the days of adversity,

When the aura is tinged

With feelings

Of quitting,
Shirking of responsibilities,

Nugatory days imbued

With sighing and lethargy,

Inactivity, complaints from

Well-meaning folks

On the essence of life.

I use my time to grow.

When my peers breeze through life

I use my time to grow.

 The man of the people.

There was a child in my village,

The only son of a couple.

Everyone had high hopes for him,

Sure enough, he was pleasant

To a fault.

Never disappointing anyone's expectation

No one could have enough of him

And everyone wanted him to themselves

Both the young and the elder.

He did everything the villagers wanted him,

By and by, he was having enemies

For while one wanted him to do this

The other wanted the other,

He was the good child and couldn't

Risk the frown of his beloved,

So he learnt the rare skill of pleasing everyone

Life was good in as much as everyone was

Happy.

By and by, he was a grown man

Filled with contentment from pleasing

Everyone. An urgent need arose,

He was sure he would be helped

But everyone turned him down,

Life was hard, came the excuses

His fantasy was busted.

He fell into depression then introspection,

For him, the enemy wasn't between the good and the bad. But
between the good and the best.

He could have left those friends when he first observed they had no
purpose

He could have gone on to pursue his aspirations but what does a good
man do when his parents frown at him?

He could have started that business but does a man of the people have
an option?
He could have lived for the best and achieved the best but his people
said good enough is good enough. In his prime, he realized he had
been living a lie.

The good was never enough.

By and by, the days of his youth became yesterday; filled with stories
for the next generations.

Now an old man with few days on earth

He sees many young villagers doing the same he wished he never did;
being happy from the feelings of not putting first things first in their
lives.
 Adebimpe!

Adebimpe noticed her energy had waned,

She was once a lady without any enemy

But now enemies are springing up like

Grass in fertile land.

She is sure the decision she took was what she wanted,

But not at the cost of having enemies.

Some other times it would be achieved

And by a magic wand, her enemies became

The delightful friends they were.

She flounced off to the river

Jumping excitedly to the music in her

Head, the man of the people called her,

She was in front of his hut, she had vowed

Never to pass in front of his house, today

Would be the last day.

 Daughter, I see that you have once again become the beloved of the
village

Yes, father, it is a cause of joy.

Which later becomes a cause for grief in one's old age.

I don't quite follow, sir, who doesn't want to be loved by all?

Tell me, daughter, how many people on their deathbeds, wished they
had pleased more people?

Well, one could never tell.

You are right, for you are a baby

And a baby knows nothing but what is right in front of her.

Tell me, my beautiful daughter, have you stopped doing things that
would be a great choice for you in the future because you are scared
of losing the love of people?

Well, I have forsaken those choices

What is life when you earn the frown of loved ones?

Daughter, if they are loved ones they would support you.

Such people will eventually leave you when your indecision bears
fruits but when you stay to your purpose, even when they leave you
they will eventually come back proud of you.

But it is hard living with their frowns.

What is harder is realizing you jeopardize your life to earn nods of

approval. Daughter, have been there before, life is hard for the man of
the people. Everyone thinks he is happy, but he is a shadow of
himself.

Tell me, Adebimpe, What man wished he had pleased more people on
his deathbed?
 The ladder of success.

I met this innocent lad who heard

The oracles preached, that the elevator to the top is out of service, and
only the ladder is available.

So he built his ladder and scrambled it to the top,

Elated that he would conquer this spire once and for all.

All his peers would come to learn the

How about making Aonian a dale for skylark

He gave it all, gave all he could to get to the top.

The top he did get, only to discover the ladder was leaning against the
wrong wall

And behind him was a trail of shattered relationships and missed

moments of rich living. Like his father, he simply wouldn't take the
time to do what mattered most.
 The flow.

Inebriated by the trend

The times call for conformity

Lest ostracism is risked.

The vogue must be upheld

Or the ire of the gods will be

Aroused, and transmogrify any dissident

Into a pariah.

The flow must be held

Sacrosanct.

They drifted on the ocean, going anywhere

The tides took them, their journey was orgasmic.

Till they climax, smashing into a rock.

They looked to the hills for their salvation

While they drown.

On the summit was a post that reads:

“Never bow to the mob

But be fixated on doing the right things.”

 This semester

At the beginning of the semester,

We resolved to make this

One better than every other semester we've had.

We planned the semester and the goal we hope to achieve.

It looked good on paper. Why had we not been doing this?

For a week we were on top of the game, life was good and going as
planned.

After a week energy dissipated, and passion waned. Our lives

threatened to go on unless there is an interruption.

But the energy required to cause a dynamic change was too great.

Later it will be done. Come to think of it, we reasoned, it is just about

passing the exams, which can be done a few weeks before exams.

So we relapsed, the underdogs had eaten their vomit and it was

pleasant.

By and by, the end of the semester dawn

As twilight set on the weary soul.

We drank caffeine and worked all through the night, we crammed and
scaled through.
So we got the degree and not the education.
 I was here

On the undulating sprawling terrain

Of Abeokuta,

In the land of the rugged,

When somnolence fellowship with men

Swooned to the land of Afflatus

Bereft of inspiration,

The perturbing question lingers

Why is time breakneck?

Tomorrow seems forever,

10 years ago seems like yesterday,

And nothing much could be done today?

The illusion of time.

I veered off onto a muddy road

It was an unwonted softness,

My feet stuck to the ground

Leaving my footprints after much effort.

Like the glimmer of a meteorite,

Came the answer.

On the shiny surface, little effort was required to move

but my footprints weren't seen.

On the muddy floor, much effort was required but my footprints were
seen.

Time is an illusion for those who walked the shiny surface of life.
Like a snake that slithers on a rock, they leave no footprints behind.

For those who exert themselves in a cause larger than themselves,

their footprints remain on the annals of time, so they can say we were
here.
 Of discipline.

He stood beneath the palm tree

Excited that he would taste the drink of

The gods today.

His mouth was wide open as he gaped

To the top of the tree for hours, but nothing happened.

The village palm wine tapper strolled by,

He enquired of him what he was doing,

The palm wine tapper laughed him to scorn,

“You didn't hack the tree and place a keg there

As a wise man would.

Does the wine drip freely like showers of rain?”

 The man who said no.

For his friends, it was all about

Who parties the most,

But he objected to this philosophy,

For him, it was the most ludicrous of

All of the mundane things.

But his friends reasoned with him

They were juveniles,

Juvenescent was for enjoyment

And pleasured-days

So did their fathers,

Theirs shouldn't be different.

For him, their fathers didn't turn out well

For that singular cause,

So he said no!

And they said no to him

No more would he enjoy the camaraderie

Of their fraternity,

No more would he be reckoned in the sorority

Of their school,

So they made him a pariah.

But he chose to be a pioneer

Even as he recalls the prayer of his mother:

“Child may you never walk on

The day fools congregate

Seeking comradeship”

Better to be a lone wolf on the right path

Then one with a united pack on the way

To abyss.

So he said no

And forever was banished from their congregation.

As the fertile soil breed earthworms

And birth life for the yam earthed

In it,
So was his life succor to those

Who chose to stay

And they came in their numbers

As a bumblebee create a beautiful garden

As it waggle dance.
 Rusty

You have scarcely left practicing

When you go with the boys, partying,

Binge watching,

Queasy, maimed by adventures,

Overtaken with passion, as

When you were somnambulating

Benumb to the gift on the inside

Rusty

From disuse

Dearest gifted,

Many gifted have found themselves

Relegated,

As their yesterdays became better than today,

In their guild,

They found each other

Dissonant, as twilight set in the day

Leaving heartaches in them

But, you, attend to endeavor

Never enthrall by forlorn hopes

Keep for Ponos your very best

As he wed you with

Afflatus;

Adept.
 The rugged path

There's a country that lies on the ocean

an electrifying mountain range,

moony and crepuscular trees.

Called the land of the free.

Two roads divulged in the crepuscule forest

a muddy road

and a straight path

The wind whirled in reckless abandon

communicating the way to go.

It was passed from one tree to another,

from one bird to the other,

the day went from music to music,

and danced in meditation,

In flights that soar the eagle

though the wind receded

to where the songbirds congregate

bringing the evening's winsomeness

and twilight came in

like an unwanted visitor.

The Sequoia whispers

Thunderly,

Which way to go?

The Baobab enquired,

Where do you turn to?

So I turn to the lord of the sky, the eagle

As he glided through the raging winds

He confers with me,

To take the rugged pathway.

Why? I asked him.

Strength, man, strength. He who takes

The rugged path against the easy road is strengthened for the evil
days.
I took the rugged pathway and that made all the difference.

Ain’t no playing
At nightfall

in the garden where the kids

go out frolicking,

the ambiance frescoes

of Conviviality

the hopes of a rose-garlanded life,

no work, all plays

was the spirit of the time.

He loved the music of the children's laughter

Their gaudy-heart

inspires innocence in him,

Oh how pleasant to be possessed by the spirit of the times,

All play, no work

But his troubles keep him vigilant all through the night

Whilst his folks’ cogitation on their lives is somniferous, his kept him
insomniac.

Should four successive generations be allowed to turn out the same?

Nothing could be more daunting,

Perhaps a little time spent in recreation ain't a bad idea,

He would have conceded to the thought,

But common sense revealed to him

The status of those he wanted to play with,

All without fail were born with a silver spoon,

With everything given on a silver platter,

He wasn't born with a silver spoon, not even a plastic one,

He communes with himself to make his attitude the spirit of his time,

All work, ain't no playing

No sleeping, no playing makes the great greats

But his fathers chose to do otherwise

And he will change the narrative.

 The man who died without honor.

Power knocked,

Calling him to wake up.

Who isn't familiar with his shriek of sacrifice?

His screeching scared the life out of him.

“I’ve got important things to do,” shouts the intrepid hunter. He

flounced off into the forest to hunt, dispersing via the backdoor.

The forest reverberated the echoes of power’s call. But the hunter was
satisfied with his station.

“You gotta give up to go up, give these things up and the stars await
you, my friend.”

“But the pain of giving up these things is too great, I ain't giving them
up. Who gives up frolicking for a better life that isn't uncertain, that is
akin to leaving certainty for uncertainty. Take your eyes off me so I
can live.".

He hasten his strides and killed a partridge on his path, a fair

treatment for the day's trouble.

He chanced upon the calabash of honor but kicked it out of his way.
He would rather live on the far side of life where honor is a mirage
than live on this side of eternity where discipline is a requisite for
survival.
In the eventide when men of honor assembled beneath the Iroko tree
to discuss existential issues. He loved to speak and to be heard. But
those men, adept in conversation will segue the discussion to issues
for men like him. He would leave the assembly apoplectic. "Why
wouldn't they ever listen."

The turkey whispered, “you have to earn it.”

“Just the same way I will earn you,” he shot the bird and roasted it.

Day by Day, he accepted all invites and invited himself to every event
in town.

He just couldn't say no. He can never stand boredom for a second.

By and by, the wise men ostracized him, and his family did the same
but was welcomed by the scums, for scums always stick together.

His health deteriorated, but there was no one for him, he was living on
the far edge of life.

And so he died without honor.

Needlessly reminiscing on the good O'l days

with its euphoria of epiphanies

happy moments, halcyon days

that never run melancholic,

felicitous months of Sundays in a leap year,

always riant-faced in the days of yore.

She plucked mettle from her heart and

order the cosmos bring unrivaled sadness

her mind bedraggled, stuck in the mire of the

of the past.

She zoned from woolgathering to somnambulism,

absorbing illusions, amplifying the voices in her head,

whose echoes are surreal, preternatural, and lethal —

they sing nothing but dirge,

the nights a requiem of lost treasure

and strengths wane.

She compared herself to every Lola, Bola, and Tola

in Town.

There's an island in the heavens,

created exclusively for her betters,

incredible green pastures carpeted the terrain

with an artesian aquifer of milk, honey, and butter.

She drifted haphazardly toward the isle,

digging her grave in her strides,

it dawns on her the green pastures were an optical illusion

she had abandoned her own...

 Three things.

Over mountains, over the seas

He searched every cave

faster than bullets,

eager than fireflies,

staying where the light

hung low

hoping to see the hidden treasure

of success, which the ancestors

had privileged over them.

Was it diamond, gold, silver, or rubies

that brought them refinement and sophistication,

and made them exuberant and optimistic?

Over malls, libraries

he perused every book,

never one to be caught in chronological snobbery,

thirsty but water could never quench,

hungry, even a blue whale can't relate.

As the day danced from study to abstraction and cogitation

light illumines his heart.

Eureka!

There it was —

It was neither diamond, gold, silver, or rubies

That made them who they were

But as taught by them

Three things were fundamental

Three things only, nothing more, nothing less.

Not Carbon, Oxygen, and Hydrogen

Not proteins, carbohydrates, and fats

and surely not water, air, and space.

He would achieve what seems impossible to his peers

He that will make the mountain of achievement a dale

Must never live on the Isle of comfort,

Must change himself continually while he hopes for the best

 And never find the easy way out.

Aye, sir, it wasn't diamond, gold, silver, or rubies.

But three things.

 Industry and indolence

Indolence and industry cannot cohabit

Indolence is full of immediate gratification

Industry is full of endured-boredom,

Indolence, like wax melts

Industry, like palm tree weather,

Indolence, like summer adventures

Industry, like winter work.

Indolence's span is short

Industry outlives man,

Indolence is lame, industry is nimble

Indolence birth wild grasses

Industry mother's sophistication

So I married industry.
 The people who fought for freedom

But birth Chaos.

The leader sat on the car

Some distances from where they congregate

Thoughts of a better nation

permeates the atmosphere

a movement is rising.

Downtrodden

Disgruntled

Dissatisfied

With the status quo

A change is inevitable

Or things will dance to the

music of decadence.

The forefathers had been quiet.

Quietude was their counselor.

But for them

Never again!

No more keeping mum

So aphasia doesn't embrace the populace

Or the tongue-tied will be stampeded

By the power-drunk

Speak up don't be mad,

Be the voice of the voiceless

The ear of the deaf

The mouth of the dumb.

The spirit of the times,

a people is rising

a generation is born,

that day, the day they were repressed

a day never to be forgotten

 a day their lives changed forever.

But

Like the surge of the ocean without sea breaks,

It destroys everything in its path.

The movement danced,

Maiming anything that

Opposes it

The grizzled were mocked,

“Hadn't been for them we won't be here”

Institutions were canceled

Palpable aggression

Repressed respects

The spirit of the times.

The leader sat on the car

reminiscing

away from where the carnage rose,

the harbingers of worse days to come

But what changed?

Wasn't the hope of a better nation

The goal?

Things were expected to change

But for their generation,

The more things change,

The more they decay.

The forefathers embraced quietude

But they embraced violence

Of course, they were wiser and their fathers were a bunch of sapheads

The leader-activist sat

Helpless like a bird without wings,

The night with the hopes of the day buried.

Their sun rose and set at the dawn

A generation that despises her elders is

Like a tree without its roots.

A song without a voice

A spark without a flame

A child without a name

A cripple without crutches

What do we do our leader?

Let's go home.

The sun did not wait

For twilight before it set.

Let's go home, people.

But we are free?

Yes, we are free!

We fought for freedom

Even though we were free

All our efforts yielded

Was chaos.

Let's go home, people.

Let's the setted-sun

Dies in its sleep.

It's enough, people.

Freedom without discipline

Is chaos: this is the story of our lives.