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TOUCHING THE AIR by Oladayo

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                  Walking down the street on a cold night Struggling with thoughts with last might The cloud heavy with threatening rain If it rains then it'll add to the pain Fear of brothers from elusive world Who might think now is the time to strike Oh! Am so lonely in this world Except for the sound of thunder strike Can this get any better? Cos have tried but no reply to the letter All hope seems gone and lost But making it I see as a must Gentle movement of the air And the rushing sound of river All reminds me that there is hope And when it comes, must I be in a hole? My spirit is broken, my heart is shattered And what I know not is that Not all smiling face has a beautiful heart But each time I hug myself in my hope And the air whispers that I can cope Not minding the fear or despair All I could feel is that i am TOUCHING THE AIR.
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****Making a man**** Hurry d baby as fast as u can,  Hurry him, worry him, make him a man. Off with his baby clothes, get him in pants,  Feed him on brain foods nd make him advance. Hustle him, soon as he's able to walk,  Into a grammar school; cram him with talk. Fill his poor head full of figures and facts,  Keep on a-jamming them in till it cracks. Once boys grew up at a rational rate,  Now we develop a man while u wait, Rush him through college, compel him to grab,  Of every known subject a dip and a dab. Get him in business and after the cash, All by the time he can grow a mustache.  Let him forget he was ever a boy, Make gold his god and its jingle its toy. Keep him a-hustling and clear out of breath,  Until he wins-nervous prostration and death.        --PENMIND
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MY ESTEEMED TEACHER by MZ Harkehrehleh

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 My esteemed revered teacher, The facilitator of learning, And Molder of character, I know your worth if others know not You tutored my youthful mind And Saved me from you ignorance, You are indeed a hero. A celebrity you were of old, Your words held sway in any place, Your appellation a cherished one, Alas! What a change of fortune You have now become a dung hill  upon which everyone throws dirt The mentor of all, Yours is the mother of all profession, Despised by students, Harassed by parents Chastised for the students failure Looked down upon by other profession Most especially by the government Yet you remain undaunted Because you love your profession. Your counterparts in the hospital does the same But nothing moves him, Not even the groaning of a dying patient Until his demands are met "Go back to the classroom" Is the outcry My teacher! Oh my esteemed teacher
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