The Emigrant
here they come,
with batons made of the white
mans wits,
with the sounds of our ancestral
thunders,
all in different shapes.
marvelled we were,
seing them fly in the air,
and some down on moving
huts,
faster than our forefathers
ghosts,
he shouted a command,
they attacked...
we retreat,
then we attacked.
we attacked,
yes! a karmikase,
kpa! kpaa! kpaaa!
tuue! tuee!,
duum! duum!. That was the
sound of their machine power.
dead!
we all layed dead.
they sketched and exploited our
land,
then they left,
yes they did
with our land left barren.
Copyright © Ndimaeme David K | Year Posted 2013
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