The Axe Poem by Tosin Abegunde

I am the fearless blade of Peter
That splits from the nerves
Down to marrow and spine
Of the subtle men with high order
From those far away lands.

I am the wine drunk in Harlem
To hewn stumps of oppression
As in Soweto, Opobo and Nairobi
I'm the voice crying in wilderness;
Defender of our acts and tongues.

As Shea butter vanishes
Sighting a blistering sun,
I rule like fiery furnace fountain
That melts iron of impediment
In this black jungle.

Seven times and season l've got
To surmount the feat of climbing
Those seven high mountains:
Pillars of heaven and earth
I'm axe man, dread of oppressors!


© Tosin Abegunde 2017