Poem of the day

Our curse
On his iron horse he came
Skin, yellow as the blossom of the broom
He built schools and we learnt to read and write
With enticing religion, came churches
So we abandoned our gods
And thought we were his children

He gave us so much
Cursed is he who speaks ill of him
Let him rape our sisters and daughters
Let him put our brothers and sons to chains
And rip children from the bosom of their mothers
He is superior to us in all ways

Let no man speak ill of him
Let him exploit our people
Let him pilage our resources and destroy our culture
We shall work in his plantation and go hungry
We shall work in his homes and n have no homes of our own

Surely he is superior
But when we die, we shall be preserved like sarah baartman


© Badiru Adebola, 2016




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