They Too Are Letters Poem by Tosin Abegunde

Like the thick shadow
Of a baoba tree in the
Bright mid-night sun,
They all form large part
Of our existence uncut.

Their umbilical cord is
Gehazing grave greed
That gates them in Kuje
In one, twos and more
What a grave yard flies!

National cake turns so
Sour that our children's
Teeth yet unborn ache
By the stigmas of our
Progenitors now in hell.

Serial divorce becomes
Pride of the negroes as
Against our movement,
Creed, belief and fate:
A torn home we have!

Fraud fermented foes
Feigning friends for fun
To truly trade terrorism;
Thwart peace to pieces
And soil our garments.

Go ask the rich or poor,
Kings or their subjects
Their source of wealth,
It's always a filthy rag
Borne by loot and theft.

Like the poli-trick-ians,
Like the clergies who're
Licensed ritualists yet
Shouting allah-luyah to
The folly of all citizens.

Hope of the hopeless,
Friend of the masses,
And defense of nations
Are all sojourners here
As souvenir timeline letters.