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Tuesday, 20 March 2018



Here is a poem on this painful truth by Abiola Inioluwa

Dear Baaami,
I want to remind you
Of how we lost our way on a night
Where Libya slit our future with daggers of horror
And we became a poem on slavery's archive

I saw voices sinking like a fallen dream,
I saw bodies, dropping like fading sighs
Tears- tatooed on scalp of naive sands
Noices, slay silence on a night of wounded memories.

It was a night where our smiles limped off our jaded faces
And fear cracked our soul with claws of brutality
Dreams buried- we became the sad song of a barren night

My brother's blood crawled to kiss my scar for the last time
And to give her blessing on my quest with my newly found buddy- slavery.
The cry of our sisters would spank my bald conscience-
Whenever their undefiled thighs appease fuming fangs:
In their eyes, I could see a young girl whose dignity is stolen

Chains, whips, punches, kicks:
Like a father would say to his child
"Do not die until you have made a mark on the pages of life"
The quote is fulfilled, but our backs became the pages of life,
And the whips made their mark on us.

We died papa, even before death rescued us
But papa, do not forget this:
We are silhouettes that won't feel the face of a new dawn,
And remember that when dream falls, actuality becomes a mirage

I go papa, never to return to you.

Curled from

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