Blacks by Ajise Vincent

I am not a silent poet

Listen Mortal, 

Blacks
Are not the abased cackle
Of your erased yesterday
Check the diaries of your fathers

They are the genesis
Of your soaring present
With whom civilization now tangos

You may see them
As jibed jugulars
Embedded in deceptive mambas

You may even deride them
Like walking fossils
Created to serve as Jackals

Lo! Despite your demeanor

They would still raise
Their arc shoulders
In triumphant grandeur

For soon, your mentality, parochial
Would be sledged
By Karma’s vindictive mallet

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