I Am Not Black….
Lambs might be black
And yes, some be white
I’ve seen a few that’s tan
And quite a few, are speckled
Oh! The beautiful jaguar
Some as black as coal
The darkness of night
But I am not black
I could be chocolate
Hewn from the inedible pods
Grown in my fields
Owned by me for you
I might even be coffee
You own those fields too
I send you the sacked beans
You send me my sack clothes
None of them is white
And I’ve seen a few that’s pink
And they’re also red sometime
Always a good time to flee
Be not fooled by the claim
I be not black, and you ain’t white
All we are, are human beings
I bleed red, and so do you
But how do I the racist fool blame
Have our fathers not declared
Your usage of your chattels
Shall assay its value for others
George Floyd was his name
Trophy he was, for a racist cop
Tina Ezekwe was her name
Killed by a Killandgo in Lagos
Oceans apart, united in death
Untimely, unnecessary, inhuman
Systemic, endemic, pandemic
Slave masters, traders, enforcers
The corrupt Africans loot
Loots kept in oyinbo vaults
We are fantastically corrupt
And they are fantastically angelic
Brethren, look again
They never stopped the trade
They merely changed the rules
The slave markets are booming
DF
The Truth Is An Offense….a COVID 19 Reality Check
May the good Lord continue to radiate his glorious light upon you , you have become a shinning light for this fast fading generation. Please endeavor to pass what you carry to those coming behind. God bless you sir.
Do not Die in their War
I whispered to the market woman
She looked with at me with half a smile
Then threw her head back in a hiss ended laugh
And what do you know about death she asks
His height, his eyes or where he lays his head
They say he broke a deal when the war began
The he leaves the rich
And gets a mansion around where i Live
To let our streets run red
and their streets a neat black just like his house
Its the only mansion in sight around these parts
we all thread lightly as we walk by his house
Iya Muri once sold right where i stand
6 months of poor sales and she lost herself a son to him
Hunger on a land that makes fat the rich
we are more likely the meet the man you talk about
So Buy if you’re buying, or leave me with my empty mouth
i nod and take a hand full of pepper
i placed a note in her hand and said
You’re likely to meet him nonetheless,
A fright i must agree with
But when you do…Make a promise to self
You wont die in these parts as the war declares
but on the path you have carved
for you and yourselves
and let the blood run free
To the black streets it belongs
– Fawaz