Sitting at the feet of Sahara,
Watching my tales by the moonlight…
Black but gold I am:
I toiled and ploughed
Sweated through my veins
And great my harvest was.
My stories changed
With the appearance of beings clad in white layers!
They combed through my thick and thin
And with the marriage of 1914,
Perpetual slavery became of me!
I garnered momentum and was liberated,
But my fate still rests
In the hands of chronic termites!
Like a slave in the desert,
Even in the midst of rich soil,
I march through sand and stones!
Where fountains of resources flow endlessly,
I swim in rivers of poverty and lack!
I’m still bound
In shackles of chains and agony,
Each movement ripping with pain!
Hymns of tears I hear everyday
And the Boko never ceases to Haram
So I’ve become a portrait of misery in disguise!
Into shreds my ill-fated dignity has been torn!
The dark ages still rages,
For I am still wearing slavish chains
In post slavery reign!
My heart BLEEDS!
meet the poet: Albert Seraphin
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.