POOR MAN’S PALAVER

POOR MAN’S PALAVER   We stick our fingers in the mud For our children and for the future Searching for diamonds and gold We bathe in mud to eke out a living Our finds sell big in big cities While we have little or nothing to show   Our frustrations turn into hatred Not for the ones who oppress us But amongst ourselves down the line As we struggle to outsmart the other Go away from here, this is my space A brother holds the neck of another   I brought out chair to sit and chat Over beer, pepper soup and wine Small income came in as succour Neighbours brought out their chairs Luring my customers away with lies They stifle my trade and run me down   We like the suffering of the other man It gives us a false sense of our success We like to inflict pains on other people We hoard fuel to cause a long queue And sell in black market with high price Give them stress and bring them to knees   The rich man smiles at a fellow well-to-do The poor man frowns at a fellow deprived The wealthy sends a season’s compliment The underprivileged says ‘what’s your own?’ While poverty brings hardship and suffering Poor man palaver takes root and odium multiply