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The Reality Of Hate
by
Charles Okafor
Hate runs in
your blood,
Disgust for my roots swells
In your blood like cancer
You hate me with hungry passion
Fire burns in your eyes like an inferno
Your fists soiled with my mother's blood,
Her beauty marred by your passionate arrogance.
Ah, you brand my back with whips and curse
In the heat of the day, in the ghostly cold of the
night
My father's might wears out like dawn,
His body falls lifelessly to the ground,
Like a pack of cards
And my kindred youngs,
All beautified in my mother's womb,
Are like worthless toys in the hands of your
beloved begotten.
How you so hate us?
Our black blood sweeten your civilized tongue
Our crude hands made your riches
Your riches that mock our wretched grave.
My mother's born are hungry,
They lie in the open infested with flies,
And sores and penury
The paths to our homes are overgrown with thorns
and vipers
Oh your mansions remind me of my father's ruin.
Your laughter outweighs our tears,
Our sweat and our joy,
Even love has deserted your heart
Your pride burdens my back
Like the cross of Christ.
How you so hate us?
But we refuse to drown,
In the depths of your intense hatred
We never die, we keep living
Our beauty and our courage
Return to hunt your ancient pride
Even the sun rises with gold over our wretched
huts.
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