How does it feel to be a Problem?(A poetry)

Do we trod the famished road with the single hope of an oasis at the end? 

The desert sands shall give no mercy to a man of faith
Let us go then from the lands we baptised with pain
Let us, like Ulysses, set sail like the Vikings To mete and dole unequal laws upon a savage race.
Do we weep for the things unseen?
Tell me, my kinsman, how it feels to bring goodluck?
Even when ants have ecstatically ravaged your iron fence.
Tell me how it feels to drink from an oasis
In the patched mind of a thirsty traveller.
Do we weep for the roads not taken?
We saw the Kiama bridge and that which goes to Yenogoa
Do we require the gods to tell us where to go?
The soothsayers are out of business now

We have all turned prophets like the people of Eleusis.
The desert sands does not forgive a penitent feet
Neither does the hungry pather puts faith in the gods for a meal
So tell me! Tell me oh kinsman, how does it feel to be a problem?
What does it require of a genius to be a fool?
Does it require being pious?
Does it require taking existence serious?
We were sent here to build a hole
A hole which we have built so deep that we no longer see the light
I gave a penny to a beggar and he gave it to his brother in penury
I clean the guillotine daily, only to be stained with the blood of feeble minds.
Finding myself alone
Only for my solitude to be arrested by thoughts of things I had lost.
When I walked from Carthage to Karnem-Borno, there were no tears of burnt and scratched metals
When I listened to Homer, there were no use of afflicting words
When I slept in homes carved out from the intelligence of Masons, there were no natural disasters.
The Aare-Ona-Kakanfo has refused to return
Maybe the age grades should hunt for him
Just make sure the Sultan is still on seat when I return
If I do not return then I am your problem.