Drowning in the pain of our forgotten culture,
Confused in the earthquake of truth,
I have decided to become the dark muse,
Afraid of the audacity imposed by the foreign film they watch.
Rivers of humility couldn’t swallow their pride,
Inculcating the habit that was not from the foundation,
The story of her upbringing is now being regarded as myth,
Our greetings have lost its taste.
Training a child in the normal way as become domestic violence,
Our proverbs are slacking, our fashion crawling,
Our food nailed to the cross with a crown decorated with thorns,
Shawarma and French fries now made us sag our identity.
We were hugging the prince of Persia in black paradise,
There is a dignity that fades away,
That we weren’t conscious of.
Yet, we are running away,
We have labored for something good,
The smiling legacy is about to be set ablaze,
By the people that do call us Baboon,
The name that is more disgusting than our taboo.
We should count our gain when the pain hurts,
Life is sacrificial by default.
Written by Kunmi Akin’s