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A scrpit
My life is like script
Conscripted to dance to the rhythms of distortions
As a clown of western audience,
I fool around, monologuing before my protagonists
A cast of extortionists party on my identity
A half devil, a half human, so I am in their volumes
A victim of their intellectuals’ metaphor
A paradox I am in the comity of decisions
At the mercy of their conference table my fate is tabled
My dialect forgotten, my humanity question
My tongue tamed and trained to their dialects
In the confluence of their dialects I grope
Who am I? A script or, a history.
awoh awoh
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