Deduct dev. from the sixth of March
March our match with others matches
Realize our journey is too much.
The capital around me made a tour
In his heart saw I many an eye sore.
What filthy scenes see us on the sea shore?
What dirt dances on Dark Korles door?
Swim with me to the street's fore
Malady, squalor, beggars galore -
Treachery, debauchery, all poor?
Travel the apothecary's office, market,
Weigh how aristocrats fattened by our pocket
Wake, site cities, a thousand budding Eves,
Scoliosised mission, no vision, winter leaves.
Who harbours blame, who bears shame?
Sellers or customers of this game?
Certainly the gods are not to blame
Unless man recruits a new staff.
And until man takes a mental bath
Many miles...
1 comment:
The title of this poem is appropiate to the African experience.
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