Benedict Omenogor

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Benedict Omenogor
Friday 17 September 2021

IN OUR LITTLE SMALL VILLAGE

They come into the present

With a past shining like the stars, 

Their records are clean, and they have no scars,

With mouths full of gargantuan exploits, 

The evidence lies in their social media page


They speak like gurus with sugarcoated tongue and a friendly accent 

Hurray! heads nod in agreement

And the soul is elated


We could bury our head to defend them

For their innocence is seen on their face,

Their voice speaks softly, 

So softly, that it can touch a heart of stone 


Their tears falls unexpectedly, in pitiful drizzles or great torrents,

And they attract the empathy and sympathy of kind souls and folks alike 


But the painful part of the story

Is the discovery that...

They're not who we thought they were

And far from what they claim to be!


How distressing is the drama of pretence,

And how dramatic are it's actors and actresses!


Lies could be sweet and impressive

And appearance could be deceptive, 

Pretence isn't just a word 

But the character of folks

With no value for their reputation...


In our little small village

We all knew each other,

And it was difficult for people to fake...




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