I go numb munching thoughts of moons ago;
A season our debacle had room to grow
In a clan found before the sulky shore
Of a greedy river that quenched thirst no more
Brawny black Iroko of our wealthy woods
Flanking, screening our borderline grudgingly fell
Like a plucky pail drowning in a cluttered well.
To survive we bartered our rules, our goods
When distant civilization dispatched deceit of gold
Hidden in the belly of earth our ancestral homes hold:
Divisive news that murdered altruism;
Heads and necks lost union; poor communism-
It ceased to see the light of day.
We could inhale the reek of ruinous fray
Leaching from the heart of the town;
Apathy had fed fat the crown
That saw gray counsels as empty barrel.
Toothless natives stooped in their coliseum of hell,
In surveillance as our gods became naked and homeless;
Angry machines inhumed their pride- we were hopeless-
And buried in the sand the white calabash
That sheltered our heritage from becoming trash.
Ignominy! Ripe ignominy!! It engulfed all might;
Who was drunk enough to caution the crown or start a fight?
I should return, I shall return to my land,
Disguise a ransom- change - and defy the hand
Wielding hegemony over ancestral toil
That rooted our origin on harmonious soil
No! The crown must be free;
My people need me,
I am the ransom for our white calabash.
And yes, I am the change.
*** Written by Jacobs Adewale ***
Poem Entry for “Brigitte Poirson Poetry Contest, August 2015”
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