Ancients Of Rag Poem by Ajala Samuel Akindele

Ancient of days,
As old you are rag,
You call it heyday,
Leave no bag.

Currently thou hath soon incarcerated,
our faithful soul with hunger and thunder
of life with stern devastated,
leading to our emergence miser.

My ribs and cages are contemplating
and bleating to the attribute
of your incarceration, stealthing
to the formation of hunger rite.

Thou unkempt bags and rags persuasion
delivery to the mad dogs shows
to the affirmity of your ample pretension
to the realism of destruction showers.

Our poor accumulation for decades,
contribute immensely to your formation
of inflicting and burning decadence
and spot the measure of contension.

The rags you wore are destructive
to the stages of your wreck havoc
upon the infliction and additive
embellishment to emergence of adhoc.

Your promises are promiseless!
Your thoughts are thoughtless!
Your visions are visionless!
Your missions are missionless!
Rent your robe and sack your cloth
We buy you new clothes and we are ready to cloth.