A MAN AND HIS SLAVES

A MAN AND HIS SLAVES

Bring the chains,

Bring the shackles,

Bring the whips

And bring the slave-masters.

Let them remind us we are slaves.

Slaves!

Not to the whites,

But to our own.

Not in another clime,

But in our own land.

With flutes we sing the song of freedom

But with their gentle whips,

They remind us we are slaves.

Slaves!

Not in deeds, but in policy.

Not in words, but in actions.

Alas!

Our backs are full of marks

Not from past labours

But for recent whips.

And the comrades we sent over the sea

To ease our pains

Have remained behind.

Hmmmmm…

Just when the sun decides to set @ mid-day,

With new Naira note, they whip our backs again

Just to remind us that we’re nothing

Nothing, but slaves.

I cry!

Not because I’m a slave

For being a slave is not new to me.

But because I’m a slave

In my motherland. Not only that,

I’m a slave to whom

We share the same blood.

Good news!!!

They said we are not slaves

But rather, they don’t want to spare the rod.

But go ask them…

Go ask them…

If that was how Mama Africa brought them up.

For a man and his slaves

Equals to a dog and his bone.

2012 (c) Austus Ofmat Nwanne{Mr. Tackle}

This poem is one of the poems in an anthology titled, SUNSET AT MID-DAY: An Anthology of Young Nigerian Poets.