The worms fight greedily for the corn.
Making me muse and muse.
Suddenly, the ground moves.
My hands clutch the door post
Pounding heart tearing the painful head.
`Lord, spare this struggling life
Next pay will be food first
If I’ve not learnt too late’
At the buka, the changeless topics
`SAP has marginalized us all’
Mama Put has learnt
So many new words already
`When will the universities be re-opened?’
`When will Gani be released?’
`Have you heard that… blah blah blah’
The voices reach me from a distance.
I toil through the salty soup.
Gradually, strength returns.
The foul tang of bore-hole water
Stings the senses …
I am my society’s oblation.
Lost, the will to complain.