It becomes heavily cloudy
The Lord lets it rain
On the bosom of the rich and poor
The suns ray beat us all this while
Scorching she is, but our vegetables grow
In the heat of sleepless nights
The Nights calm airs come upon us
They give the warmth we desire
Sometimes the cripple on the road
Waves to the passing crowd, crying
“Please feed me sire, feed me ma-am”
Faces reddened on the Suns ire
The drops of tears and sweat, costless
The child barefooted, left alone,
Lost to the race ran by the world
Desiring a little comfort someday
Caught up in pain; raped, maimed
The old woman without her sight
Sitting under a huge baobab
Waiting for direction or hope?
Leaving her fate to the worlds vanity
The tears of infants brought to this world
Without a glimpse of what it shall be
To live on this world full of abandon
The end of love here proven always
Oh blessed Father Abraham!

Sometimes angels thread our pathways
And we do not know of it

By Oke Iroegbu

Finance Graduate, Bibliophile and Bard of Ovim, his hometown. Read more at

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