My Visitor Poem by Felix Emeka George

A man visited me here
And called a barbarian
Man, with deep imperfect wisdom
Calling me savage, why?
My ruminating and acting life.
My meager cool shelters with thatch
Odium of technology and little clothing's
He has no sense altitude
To reflect on himself
Awoke one morning
Reversed champion, in my place
Specific a bit Sahara deserts
Waken the arid land demand
The hatred leaves for my livestock's.
And like the Fulani herdsmen he lives
Without my endurance like an Eagle
All his gentle man as good laundry
Would urged him to be somehow half-nude
Than elaborated houses for my kinds.
In coming out this if,
If your reflection wouldn't lie
Looking and acting like me
Than as you think you are.