His corpse rots at the city gate
We mourn for our dead sons
But our histories shed blood
The marauders pillaged our libraries
Books and texts taken captive
No one is paying attention
Everyone is fighting for resource
The great Alexandria fell
Now Timbukutu burns
While the media shows a proxy war
Intellectual pirates rob treasure hub
Tomorrow died yesterday
Our children have no roots
No history, no anchor
How would they oppose the locusts?
Tongues float in jars of silence
Brains stored in alcohol
Fingers are black with berry
Yet we dance in ignorant merry
Tomorrow stands naked in the sun
His story would be told by the slave master
Fragments of our identity scattered
Drifting in imperial waves
On history's mountaintop
Lies the view of the future
Sons of Nubia claim your limbs!
And put breath to your dead future
Tomorrow died yesterday
No petals for his grave
His remains laid to waste
We betrayed him for little grains
By Nwakanma Chika ( Nigeria )
picture source; theaccidentalfreelancer.wordpress.com
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