I feel the pen pushers’ endless pain.
The pen pushers seldom reap any gain.
The pen pushers constantly bear hardship.
The pen pushers are rarely respected.
The pen pushers are seldom appreciated.
The pen pushers are too often neglected.
The pen pushers are bent beneath poverty.
The pen pushers cry out in the wilderness.
The pen pushers are too often used by politicians.
The pen pushers often go to bed hungry.
The pen pushers are left in the corner, dying slowly.
The pen pushers are sadly passing away, one by one.
No one seems to care for the pen pushers in society.
No one listens to the cries of the pen pushers.
Few politicians truly feel for the pen pushers.
It is regrettable to be a pen pusher in Liberia.
It is regrettable to be a writer in our beloved Liberia.
Liberia has little regard for its pen pushers.
Liberia indirectly crucifies its pen pushers.
Liberia cares little when pen pushers fall sick.
Liberia cares little when pen pushers are dying.
Liberia too often celebrates corrupt politicians.
Liberia rarely honors those who write books.
Liberia too often honors those who enrich themselves through corruption.
