Poetry: In Memory of Libya Again!

We spoke of ancestors
Clamped in beastly chains
With scars that cried blood
They were priced like meat on a butcher’s table
Value was only in how strong they looked
Home was flung across great waters
Their masters were white gods,
Armed with innovation and raw guts

We spoke of ancestors
Escaping into the unknown,
Just to mate with freedom
Fighting with chants,
Frustrated hearts and black gusto
They pursued freedom and got a piece of her feathery ways

We speak of our kind
Right in the heart of our territory
A rebirth of our fore father’s tragedies
We speak of our kind
Desperate for vanities
Brothers who have sold us for twenty pieces of silver
Freedom stares dumbfounded
She recognises our struggle
“We must have gone back in time”
She says, nodding her head quickly
We jam our shivering mouths in prayer
Daring the global village to lead freedom back to us…

Omolola Onigbinde

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