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By Temilade Adelaja
Who knows the cost of hopelessness?
canoes congregate
collecting themselves into verses
no need to seek a hook
the net would do
yet, the water is littered, littered with wastes
racks of houses invade its ephemeral body
net struggles to gather a bunch
paddles struggle to clear the way
ghetto of few hopes, yet a trope of desire
to those who survive on a daily penny
man sighs from his fainting heart
and angst for a healthier situation
PLAYGROUND
Playgrounds are magic fields
Sadness turns an orphan
As children take turns savouring joy
Whether it’s the tree shielding their heads
Or the tyre lubricating the joys in their legs
As they run back and forth, taking turns
To dribble sadness into more joys
At the playground.
