By Tikum Mbah Azonga
I am the mid road man
I creep like the silent plant
Where I go, only monks enter
Where I sit, only kings men can posit.
The thunder has shut up
The rain has ceased
The fire is going out
And you, you wear a cynical smile.
Don’t take it out on me
I mean you no harm
I’m only a mid road man who weeps
I can never claim to be your boss.
© 2009
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