Letter To My People
We puddled together in the pit,
sweat wetting the earth.
Hand in hand we kneaded bricks,
puffing in the sun,
baking our hope.
From day peep to dusk,
my body tanned ebony as the tropic sun smiled,
as bricks cured,
browning in the furnace.
Didn't we walk this far, side by side;
twins, curled in the womb, dreaming?
Shall I then call you Jacob?
Your Lordship?
Why do you act strange now,
bearing down on my sensibilities,
bestriding the estate?
Your title?
I have mine:
my sweat, my blood, my backache;
my shoulders drooping from loads of hope,
curved, like new moon.
You laugh at my form;
brag about your gambit with roaches and rodents
to drive me out with stench—
the monstrous air
that you own the sun and stars:
an effluent scum from the pit.
You got it wrong! You did!
I have a stake!
We puddled together in the pit;
you and I,
on fair terms.
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
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