spread through our greens
proud arrogant mice
eating to death, our means
means to life, means to food
white collars on our farmlands
and bow-ties on our hoes’ eyes
Pens have become cutlasses!
Office benches are being warmed up
by dusty farm asses!
Our farmers now plough keyboards and monitors
leaving white elephant weed to suffocate our
orphaned farm beds
Oh! Let green come alive again
Let our yams yield diamonds again
Let our hoes dig out gold again
Yes, let white collars be white collars
But, let ‘go-to-hell’s be ‘go-to-hell’s
Let white-collars’ growth be abated!
For dusty hands make our mouths oil bathed!
Written by: Arinze Okafor
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.