Poetry April 23, 2015

first_imgBRING BACK OUR GIRLS….NOWBy Matenneh-Rose L. DunbarIt does not feel like it happened a year agoIt really did happen to over two hundredOur hearts have grown, sore numb in timeSleep has deviated far from our routineOur lips tremble uncontrollably in prayerMr. President please bring back our girlsBring back our girls…. NowIt will plague generations for posterityIt breaks all hearts as we wait to see themOur daughters have been in captivity sinceSold to mauraders as maids or for serviceOver hills in savannah lands our eyes reachMr. Drone locate the desert hideouts nowBring back our girls…. NowIt has torn nations at the brink of shameIt brought forth the lack of human careOpenly the bandits with arms abducts allSheeply for a season but actually wolvesOvertures of religiously not to tie themMr. World come together for our peaceBring back our girls….nowI will never sell you again my brotherBy Lekpele M. NyamalonMy brother, hold my hands as I vowBefore the moon, the sun and earthWith sweat pouring from my brow mixed with my tearsOf anguish, fear and painHear me outI will never sell you again my brotherYou and I could build the walls and farmsOur hands can break a mountainWe can dig beneath the Nile and make a roadOr clear the fields and grow our plantation to feed the worldMy brother, this is a pledgeHold my wrist, let’s make a covenantUpon the blood of our fathers, we will rebuild our landAnd make it glow like a fountainYou see, your might grew those plantations over thereWith rice, corn and wheatBut, you see our children die of hungerMalnourished to the bonesAnd we worked our lives building their minesIndustry, railroads and bridgesNow, with empty hands we gaze at AfricaNo, not againI will never sell you to the tricks of strangersWith briefcases of money-for our oil, gold and diamondsAnd magic to tear us apartAnd civil wars to burn our heritageBring your hands, let’s fight togetherAnd make our fathers smile from the gravesI will never sell you again.ARMY OF WEARSBy Varney L.S. GeanI was formerly a PRIVATE of those fine used clothesDowntown Waterside those low-cost ones beckonAt this time a GENERAL of the latest suits from DubaiI once upon a time sported rubber footwear all year roundNowadays a CAPTAIN with my modish Arabian shoesIn the past the old underpants the MAJOR care lessA LIEUTENANT knows the barrels got good stuffsSpot me checking out nice things from ChinatownTomorrow I’ll be around for the ones from the ColdOh I didn’t say much about the fine shirts from AfricaOh it makes me a striking COLONEL and people do ask meIn my newest attires moreover heads won’t shop spinningOh some good stuffs for SERGEANTS like me right hereLaugh at me folks but great I feel about everythingWHITE AND CLEANBy Matenneh-Rose L. DunbarThe spoken things we crave in our livesThe cloudy white thread jumble we hugThe comfort it allures us creates gustoThe wet steps after a must morning dabThe fluffy feel of the sweet scent wrapsThe invisible spin lifts my thoughts wideThe touch opposite to my caramel toneThe length as a wall to shield intrudersThe powress to warm a cold naked soulJust…..white and cleanThe white to feel free of the dust of sinThe scrub to massage the old so swiftlyThe light of pure fills the eyes to dreamThe heights of success in a will to trivailThe signals appear as the colors darkensThe pool welcomes a plunge with a daubThe struggle is usual to attain the shineThe winds blow and rejuvinate her filchThe story is about the clean white towelJust……white and cleanThe Hut taxpayerBy Lekpele M. Nyamalon, nyamalon@yahoo.comI was chasedKnocked downBundled and beatenTo pay my shareWhat was my crime?To live and breatheIn the same spaceI had to pay a price?What was my fare?Anything I ownedMy goats, chickens, mats or cutlassI was held a captiveI was the intruderTrespassing on a fieldReserved-Yet I kept it clean-not for meI was the hut taxpayerMy grandfather wasMy uncle wasAnd we lived in hutsBuilt with our handsWhile our taxes soaredWe sat and watchedOur beneficiaries glowed in styleLiving in castles built from our hut taxes.STOP BREAKING AFRICA!By J. Lisa LumehWhere is South Africa heading?Why are you killing your brothers?Can’t you see we are trying to bring our people together?Her pieces are broken and she is bleedingHave you been there?Do you have idea of what you are doing?Ask Liberia, they’ve been thereAsk Ivory Coast, they’ve been thereAsk Sierra Leone, they’ve been thereThey all achieved nothing!But now trying to put their lives togetherAre you destroying the freedom, the love?The freedom that Mandela suffered for?He never answered racism with racismThe freedom that Africans can boost of today?Do you have any idea of what you are doing?They are your brothers!They are your blood!They deserve the best!Why need each other to survive!Why are you breaking Africa from the bottom?Stop the xenophobic attack!Show love to your brothers!And we will all rise again!Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)last_img

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