There is a riddle in our soul
A proverbial totem of survival
Crocodile children went to the play-field
And fire maimed their homes
So they returned
To meet headless walls
Our cedi kneels
Before the shrine of global gods
Her value dashed to garbage can
Her flesh, de-fattened
Her destiny dangling
Like locomotive squirrel’s testicles
Our economic witches
Lost their eyes
And now
A new coffin lies at state house
We have known survival
But these headless walls
Threaten us into ghost-hood
No comments:
Post a Comment