The depressed man chose death because he
was angry with life
But we will make our anger into a hot fume,
one that propels
Hot fumes which will one day propel us
Into a little river that will join the sea in a
country faraway
Lands we have travelled only in our minds
We know this is one of the tools
Like invisible thread sewing up the future
And the future will become a country, an
imperfect city
Hand sewed, we have never dreamt of
perfection
Just a land of men, anger, imperfection and
gold
Because our anger is a tool
Like the invisible thread sewing up the
future
Then our bones and flesh will melt again,
now forming
A big river which will join the ocean in a
country faraway
A land of men, anger, imperfection and
diamond
This place will not be call home forever
Damilola Omotoyinbo 
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