A bereaved mosquito

A bereaved mosquito came around last night.
Last night a bereaved mosquito came singing to my ear
It continuously sang until I had no other choice than to sit up and listen
The unlucky creature told me how unfortunate they have become
Once, they were the best singer in the world
They sang in the ears of kings down to the ears of the ruled without ado
They flew about perching on shoulders and chin without fear
They were loved and buttered until a day came when men arose
Men began writing in fine words and perfect lines
Men added to their words impressive rhythms and intoxicating voices
They were called poets, singers and essayists
And soon no-one cares to listen to the mosquitoes anymore
Kings and nobles were the first to raise a war against the mosquitoes
They repelled and ordered immediate death of any mosquito that rise to sing
The poor could not afford to pay a poet or buy a poetry book to read
The mosquitoes had no other choice than to migrate to the homes of the poor
But they didn’t leave without a fight,
They pierce into the skin of many to suck blood for no reason
And only when they have had their full
They leave to spit the blood out on walls and ceiling and floors
Just to return to suck again
Their constant piercing and sucking made men, including mighty ones sick so easily
Many died and, war broke out
The mosquitoes migrated to Africa and spread about it nations unbothered
They had become violent with just two options
“Listen to my songs or get sucked”
But unfortunately, African had enough vibe in every home
There were outstanding musical culture with classical instruments
The mosquitoes were in no way needed.
Embarrassed about this unquestioned rejection mosquitoes struck Africa
The fight was fair so both sides won and mosquitoes remain
The bereaved mosquitoes were mourning the death of its beloved and needed a poet to tell it story.
My neighbour had sprayed his room last night with repellants, rendering the bereaved mosquito without loved ones.
A sad story right? Well, this doesn’t make a sense to me, but the bereaved mosquito won’t let me sleep until I’ve written this.
Finally, it left and, now I can sleep!