Poetry

Commonsense Giver

He believes in me

Not what I am, but what I could be

I was still a kid

So I misjudge all His deeds

Maybe it’s because he looks like an old boy

With the face of a boy looking like some toys

So I use to call him a junk, schmuck and even a skunk

And I hate him

When he forcefully raises the whip

Like a basketball player that waits to dunk

With slates on my head

My teacher round command me to run

Oh my God!!!

 

This dude is feeling like a siscician don

While He’s nothing but an Indian dog

I thought we yeah it was just a thought

 

Now look at me

I wish you could all see

I’m now an adult

A soaring eagle and not the one that perches on overheaded

The teaching, whipping and discipline

Has all transformed me from a boy into a man.

I’m a respected icon of my clan

I know I choose to be good

But I’m never force the man that taught me

one plus one in school

Will never cease to give him credits even while

Writing my book

 

Nation builders, common sense givers, mind pillars

That’s what I call my teachers

This are like the ripples observed

When a stone is been dropped into a pond

They spread one and live on

Rear teachers never dies.

 

Rolland Ofiyo

08060185921

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