Ode To Famine Poem by Oladimeji Hakeem Olayinka

A prosy prose for deity to mourn,
As the hunger stricken wobbles on the ground.
Oh! the old retinues that feed besides our ribs.
Come again with their unbearable tax,
While the labourers' stomach rumble!
The ignorant chieftains stare from above,
While the Kwashiorkor kids parade the streets!

Farmers clank their basket and hoe,
For nothing to bring homewards,
when the farms never yield.
As the hard labour tastes no fruit,
Wife and daughter are forever famished.
The sailor that despoil us,
Snatches the bouquet of our feast.
As we wallow in our hollow labour.

Leaving us despondent at the edge of the farm,
Oh! We are made for them to drain,
When the basket of yam fully stored in there yard.
The old grand poobah release starvation from its dungeon,
As hunger flay around street, whipping! .

The rise of commodities in the Bazar,
A loaf is bought at high price.
And the grain is untouchable!
A prosy prose for deity to mourn,
How the housewives turn to modern beggars,
While the toddlers sleep with void bellies.