Am a mushroom,
they keep me in the dark
and feed me trash.
Without protest, without rancour
I’ve accepted my fate
in this rich and unfruitful garden.
Garbage is good for nourishment
darkness essential to my survival
Gardener? Am I that morel
at full bloom, you pluck every four years?
The idiot, you take no pity on
I don’t mind your lies, but your cruelty.
Am still that hand that feeds your ballot box
the fools that hang to your promise
like a moth to a flame, I am still waiting.
Oh, yes! Laugh at my folly if you will
but know this: the shea butter that laughed
at the salt when it rains, forgets that
the sun will soon shine.
© Ugo Nkwoala | TheVillageGong | 2018 | All rights reserved.