A quest in every land
Accepting slavery without protest,
You peep into the dinner table of your land;
Inhabiting many a forest.
The sun grazes you so black
while in search for food,
In between life’s race-track
Hunger has grimmed you good.
It rains often, thunders and you’re not back yet
Your breeds are scattered abroad:
Catching the fishes with net
And the flies with fraud.
You wear agbada in disguise of your identity
When the court sends lies of your reputation,
and are convinced in human’s brevity
Creeps like the mouse, their insinuation.
Motionless but moving
Deafened and speechless,
I told the bush burners to stop killing
And they engrossed to be restless.
Happenstance beats its drums
On alarming of your home coming,
You intend smiling with crumbs
Though in dark and noon, you’re always trading.
Even while the land is hot
You stay to be victims of the burning bush,
Hear me, black ants in the north
Possibly, you need a push.
Now the church burns
And your dead soul runs.
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.