Cries From The Ocean - 64 The Jailer's Lamentation

This time next season, You will be out of our prison.

Life becomes your own,

You have to fight not to be called a clown.

It will start very harsh, Do not look for a way to dash.

Live in that harsh zone,

It is a zonal suffering of selfishness.

Carry on, your experience here, Use it to survive there.

They are branded the banner of United Nations, United truly is some occupying other nations.

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Who will answer our questions,

All with our hidden revolting intention?

Our souls linger for truth as desired, But our country doom they dished.

Prisoner, you think I love this gaol job?

I’m in gaol myself, stricken with the grief of Job.

A uniform on you,

Same here, except the rod of law; for me and you.

Do not think of me as drunk,

For saying all these or as a result of crank.

My wife laments. Her bosoms in the arms of another, Now, she in turn, issues the order.

My wife, a proud owner of good income, And I, Jailer, humble owner of poverty I become.

Prisoner, do you take anger out of my words?

Do wicked ones outside not lord it over us?

My sons laments of hunger,

Truly hunger stimulates anger— we are all asunder.

So prisoner, now you see yours is a better situation, Mine is well written for this occasion.

The radio, have you listened to it recently?

Oh! I forgot you are a jailed fellow presently.

They said no more fuel subsidy,

Ha! There has been no true magomago called subsidy.

You’re no more like a one eyed man, Life has got you a negative ban (in it barn).

Did I tell you what befell my son’s education?

He’s now a proud Motorist, touring frustration.

They say IMF find

Our economy bitterly stunned.

Prisoner, they say, you’re an activist.

Some deemed you a utopian activist.

Prisoner, did you really fight that oil subsidy?

And all you got was jeopardy?

Conscience pricks me now,

Perhaps, it can be Englishly called a noun.

You were never with sorrow,

You said tomorrow will always be tomorrow.

I see now that you were wrongly jailed. Not sentenced as proclaimed.

Years will come, Yet our ends most come.

Guide your life from your years in prison, Lest you be tried once again for treason.

Prisoner! No! Brother. A brother you are now! Life out there is but conscience drowned.

I, jailer, one who cater for the criers, I hope my words will get true buyers.

Brother life become your own, Now, reality bears you alone;

As that of the olive tree symbol, It is a trick to deceive like the bomb.