Here they come again with their dusty talismans of old-
Worthless coins by which our past and present were sold.
Breathing lies, they foul our fresh air and we speak not:
For our weary mouths are full of cassava and groundnut.

Our pregnancy of ignorance has passed the labor phases-
Now we know their incantations, we know the faces.
And the rabbit that appeared in their magic hats:
From whence it came, we know in our troubled hearts.

We have no weapon but our will – like stingless drones.
But with tottering feet, nimble limbs and creaking bones-
We shall occupy though they gift us with pain and death-
For tomorrow must be bought, be it with blood and sweat.

We’ll make them dance our tune - for we paid the piper-
When our calloused hands wielded the swords of paper.


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