WHAT PRIDE MEANS TO ME
Some say pride is when to friends man’s eyes change,
Those, when nuts were hard have wrestled hard with him,
Those that have scratched his back whenever he had any itch,
Those, during his harmattan turned into Vaseline cream.
Some say pride is when down at a young lad man looks,
Whom the morsel of his stage he had once swallowed,
Whom at his height buildings with soil on legs he had built,
Whom his childhood he’d also had in experience.
Some say pride is when in people’s face man spit insultive words,
That are too dirty to clean with handkerchiefs of forgiveness;
Which even make him, under his armpit to develop an invisible boil,
That make his shoulders tilt more than their destiny.
Some say pride is when at the apex man reaches,
When acoustic fence round his ears he build to avoid the needy cries,
When at the raised hands seeking rescue he looks back not,
When the ladder he watches creaking till they are no where in sight.
Some say pride is when in-man excellence resides
With his eyes killing the value of the average,
By avoiding them on a joint lane
And never want his lips to lock to praises of their own potentials.
Some say pride is when man go for charity,
And itches the management to kick the worth to the hearings of people –
Alas! What he has done,
To let praises drench on his name.
Some say pride is when beside an old person man passes,
With his spinal cord not bending for greetings,
With his tongue twisting to no pleasantry,
Without his hands stretching upward to ease his load.
But, pride to me is when by death man is flogged,
When on knees people plead him to rise,
When the aged, with their hollow eyes shed tears for his wake
When obedience he takes along with his death,
And never attempt to make a stand.
Then to me, he is arrogant!