THE COMMONERS’ FATE

We are the leaders of the morrow,
Dangling as un-ripened fruits
On our today’s trees of stillness.
When the our old-todays are barren,
How can we the young-morrows be born?

We are the leaders of the morrow,
Elected by the permaneh voters’ bullets
To rule the parliament of death,
And the national assembly of graves.
Who can bring life to our dead dreams?

We are the leaders of the morrow,
Minced by the butchers of Sambisa
In the festival of their holy war
Where the tongue of the earth sips deeply,
The cold wine, from the breweries of our necks.

We are the leaders of the morrow,
Married away in the blind noon
With rancorous and metallic bride prices
To become forest wives of human apes.
The last sight of our pens and books!

We are the leaders of the morrow,
Who faced fire and smoked its flame
In the university of spiny assignments,
But were later employed as fighting gadgets
In the office of our political potentates.

We are the leaders of the morrow,
Standing, bending, and kneeling,
Lying prostrate and begging the herbalists
Of this our national shrines to allow us
Too, to dine and wine with the gods

–James T. Abel Adesitimi (Deeprows)

Deeprows Poetry

Poem from parent blog

Featured image Credit: Reuters