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 He has many unpublished works he hopes to share with the world.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

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