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There,  they are with their scary galaxy of thoughts! 
Those that wanted us to sing those songs they never
sang with the moon and the sun.
Those that wanted us to dance the dance they
never danced when the day was younger and braver. 
Those that wanted us to achieve those dreams 
they could not achieve yesterday with their weak hands. 
Busy old parents with often nagging lips to nag. 
Ask them where their dreams went in those days
and watch them waving their head in pity no explanation. 
We spoke with our spirits of childhood in Africa, 
they shout and curse us for abandoning westernization. 
They are our faults, the fault in our stars. 
Our parents are the architect of our misfortunes. 
They preferred Oxford education to Ajangbadi high school! 
They preferred London bridge to Third mainland's. 
Our heritages were sold with the passage of time, 
our culture eloped with the white men's  mirror, 
our traditions, Now a mixture of stone and rice! 
No one wants to take the blame but we whisper, 
silent whisper breaking the wind of tomorrow today. 
Fragments of the cockrel crows hurt our Images,
Africa is sold cheaply by those we call father and
the blame lies on the weak offspring.
Tell religion he is our first enemy in disguise, 
if he argues,  tell him the truth from Father's  eyes. 
Tell the ladies that instagram is not a kitchen,
If they argue,  take them to the Memory Lane. 
Tell the boys that facebook is their major problem, 
if they protest,  show them their changed names. 
We were made blind,  history  lied to us through
mother's lips in the season of her sweet songs. 
We will scream and break off soonest,
we will rebuild our souls and bodies soon,
when the parrots are home again with their voices, 
Africa shall wear a new cloth -
I whisper these words silently to retain your sanity. 


©John chizoba Vincent 
          Cam'god
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