By Nasiru Wonder, Accra, Ghana

My fears became tears

My tears vanished among peers

I had plenty and little of no awareness

Keenly fused to God, As I sun the Earth

Of all worth!

In the greyhound of hardships;

The trotros of Westernized Africans,

My name is mocked.

My name is cropped.

Our name is shamed.

Our name is blamed.

But in this battle Worriers are born

Like movies and aligned roles for Warriors.

Walking tires,

Flaming eyes,

Struggling lives

Regardless of the tentacular hurts.

The African voice is maimed

They say, “Mute ’em or better lashes for speaking vernacular”

They rose to fish you out in particular.


We will not die

We must not lie

We will not buy these White lies.

Even if we’re told and re-sold

the million connived buzzing tales.

In the jungle survival is for the fittest.

Only the strong will overpower toiling.

Telling and retelling our mythical stories.

Back to Savannahs, nature is just natural.

We will thrive from the bedrock and your scheming padlocks.


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