The Young Man

By Gbekeloluwa Yusuf

THE young man,
They call him a youth,
I call him a fighter,
For life’s cake is sweet at everyone’s sight,
But rocky is its flesh when you have a bite.

To fly the skies you need an extra wings,
Like Icarius but lone you would rove the clouds.

Call God love or a shrewd,
Though you need his speed,
But you would hit the streets full of heat,
And suffocating fumes.

Everyone wants your harvest but detest your making at the ploughs,
They won’t bear your name,
At your dream’s infancy,
But buy your name at your fame’s maturation.