A Lamentation for the Poor Man in the Days of High Prices

Ezra Bature

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Tuesday 6 January 2026

A Lamentation for the Poor Man in the Days of High Prices

Lo, behold the poor man as he walketh at dawn,

His sandals worn, his purse made light
The sun riseth upon his laboring brow,
Yet his wages answer not the cry of his need.

For bread hath become as treasure,
And a measure of rice as silver refined.
The pot upon the fire waiteth in patience,
But the cupboard speaketh famine and delay.

He laboreth from cockcrow unto nightfall,
Yet his reward is swallowed by the market’s mouth.
The price thereof riseth like a proud tower,
And his earnings bow low like grass in drought.

Rent knocketh hard upon his door,
School fees lift their voice without mercy
Oil and fuel cry, “Pay thou more,”
And the poor man’s heart fainteth within him.

Once did his coin suffice for many days,
But now it endureth not till the morrow.
Inflation hath stretched forth its hand,
And pressed sorrow into every household.

O Nigeria, land flowing with promise untold,
Why is the common man clothed in sighing?
The earth yieldeth abundance beneath thy feet,
Yet hunger sitteth at thy tables.

The widow counteth her last naira in silence,
The laborer divideth one meal into two.
Children asketh bread with hopeful eyes,
And their father turneth away, ashamed.

Yet still he hopeth, though hope be weary,
For hope is the last garment of the poor.
He lifteth his eyes beyond today’s trouble,
And prayeth for mercy to rain once more.

O hear the cry of them that toil,
Remember the backs bent by survival.
Let justice walk again in the streets,
And let compassion lower the cost of living.

For a nation is weighed not by its riches,
But by the peace of its least among men.
Blessed is the day when the poor shall rejoice,
And their labor shall no longer be in vain.

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