The Archaic Should Leave our Kraal

Yesterday, we saw a row of cattle silhouetted on the horizon,

A kraal with a great bloom of frizz,

Smiling faces,

Children dancing in the streets,

Women braiding at the bantaba, laughing,

Others tattooing their lips and chins,

Grandpa smoking his pipe,

And grandma making mbodakeh.

But today we see the women crying;

Babies thrown to jail;

A proliferation of tangled kangaroo courts;

Grandpa being flogged in the streets;

Grandma’s mbodakeh being kicked away;

And the archaic firing insults,

Blaming folks for the inabilities to keep the kraal neat.

Folks, tell the archaic to see:

Our thwarted huts and silos;

Abandoned streets and beaches;

Decaying kiosks;

Deserted farms;

Pudgy bodies from famine;

Devoid mums and children;

And savage kwashiorkor on our cattle.

Folks, the archaic should leave the kraal

For the coop needs a fresh blood.


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