The mistakes of our past
Forever before us
Too rigidly embossed
On the fabrics of our lives
To be made dim
By the mere passing of time
Our brethren
On the whim of the moment
Strike a sour tune
To which we must dance
For their fingers coil around our balls
The tune to which we dance
Once was euphoria in our ears
To which our feet carried us
With the swift agility
Of a reckless masquerade
Moons later, its tune grown sour
NO longer does the fever of emancipation
Engulf our feet
Which took long to master the rhythm
From the tunes of our own drums
For the drums to which we dance
And the songs to which we sway
Are the drums of strangers
And the songs of impostors
Our sons have become prodigals
Our daughters renegade
Caught in the paroxysm
Of an alien dance
A taboo in our ears
A grave tune to which we must dance
Our lives flailing to its cadence
About Author
Uzezi Ologe is a lover of the arts. His interests range from movies and music to photography and more. His writing, covering prose and poetry, is inspired by a blend of the realities and daydreams of daily life. He has many unpublished works he hopes to share with the world.
Written by : Michael Afenfia
Subscribe To My Newsletter
BE NOTIFIED ABOUT BOOK SIGNING TOUR DATES
Subscribe to my newsletter
