THE RED SUN by Adewumi Olumide Benedict

As the day woke up from its cloudy bed

It appeared above the roof of my head.

I did not set my eyes upon the sun myself, (until when...)

But as the bell of time had done its part,

With the day tasting some form of light,

I knew the sun should be above

And that all workers should be prepared for work by then.

I had nothing to slap my sleep from bed

For joblessness has nailed my legs since when

The flute of time had blown itself for me to stop

My studies and then lead my way to join others who

Had nothing to offer the world but to be a part of

The jobless race, created by the virtue of a certificate.

But on this day, the sun was red

No yellowness crowded its surface.

I didn't see this just at first

But found out as I rose to take a walk to the bar-woman's pot,

From where each day I took my death.

The sun was red that day, I swear,

It was full of blood from end to end

Its diameter was not like at all

But became redder, from the center where it was core.

I was scared to behold this at first

For what evil could be at hand, I thought

But later it became known

That it was a sign.

The sun had a purpose of its own

Of which it decided to revoke

The sun was still alive by then,

But it was no longer a sun

Rather a dead red ball.

Then it hit me by straightway

That I was a sun too

Now red, now dead, without a head.

Just like the red sun swallows itself

And the earth suffers this act of it,

Someone suffers my idleness too:

The littles on the streets

The poor I should have inspired,

To them, I'm a red sun

To them I’m a dead sun.

And at the wake of each day

As the sun comes upon their heads

They see the sun,

Red as usual.