Someday the music of the rain makes lovers to unite their feelings when twilight turn old; Sometime men assemble to listen to the tales of their heroes; Sometime when the gentle wind make us cry and life halts to pretend as a blazing fire, I remember the lost children...
I remember those children _Árugbólédé_ consumed their fate, after weep of thunder has stricken fear in the temple of their mind and on a rainy night while coming home after selling cow skin for survival with falling lips behind their Mama's, their slippers was what remained of their body to be offered to six feet room beneath earth...
I reminisce with memories of those young beautiful girls and boys of _Ilé Ápá_ and their love of _Súwé_. How their garish voices can still be heard from _Lajiki_; How the rhythm of their songs sew smiles for bereaved hearts; How they walked hurriedly barefooted in the heart of thick wild pulsing forest of _Igbó Nlà_; How I watched their comic dramas of _Báámi_ and _Mààmi_ at twilight; How they make jest of a crone, and one silent evening their wild appeals travelled with their forgiveness...
I keep in mind those kids who were the products of game of youths;The result of their young- adult parents prestidigitation without Shinarp or Kola nut for the gods and elders to 'Albarikate' their fate...
I can still recall the silent griefs of those lads over unfair tortures and psychological imprisonment from their wards; How those teachers raped the conscience on their souls; How those guardians _'bulalized'_ and _'pakenrelized'_ their body over what they could have nurtured them to be well-mannered; They are now the judges and polices of silent nights...
I'm still watching those children who have been brainwashed that _'tankalians'_ have no future by that abandoning their long walks to freedom; I'm still looking at those children holding guns instead of pen and books; I'm still soak in dilemma over who is going to drive the train of our tomorrow...
HUSSEIN, Abdulbasit
PENGUIN
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