There was bliss on this black soil of mine

Till thou killed her for thy avarice to mine

There was a smile-filled countenance on my pica-ninny

Before thou takest his mother for slavery in Sydney

Thy art cruel; uncoloured people

For thou makest me thy obsequious pupil

Washing clean from my brain my easy way of life

Painting it with an arduous literary strife

Alas! Apothecaries, I shall take no more

Of thy poison; and put on freedom’s fur

YES! YES! Run run run as fast as you can

For seeth I illumination’s wind bring rays of sun

FLEE! FLEE! While you can; I smell freedom’s aura around

Breaking the shackles with which I was bound

Abscond! Abscond! Thy abducted throne

Lest the coloured meat thou selleth get thee over thrown

This is a caveat; leave my soil and its oil

Take away thy literary toil

Take away thy soft white wood and quill

For my thought they corrupt and kill.

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David Ezeani

David Ezeani

David Ezeani

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