The river sometimes become too cold for fish to swim
Hell sometimes become too hot for devil to burn
Sometimes too at extreme corners of this world
We sit on the edges of doubts
Our fears become too real to be ignored
Have I not been a soldier all my life
A general in the deadly fronts
Taking the bulls of evil by their horns
Holding the scheme of tyranny at bay
Yet when I sit on the fringes of silence
I wondered if these scars of mine are worth it
Have I not been a good man all these years
Scribbling in gold my name in the hearts of all
Yet when on the fences of reflection I sit
I wondered if modesty is not an unrewarded slavery indeed
© Olatuja Oloyede
No comments: