By Ayoade Olamide

Strings of guitars steal tunes
from the palms of our local flutes,
tainting our fabrics with imported vernacular;
woven with the thread of disdain.

sound waves have taken to their land –
heritage crafted with our fathers’ hand
in the tender soil of our dignity. we now
shudder in our hut of leaking rooftops,

for our jungle is now an arena
where white panthers pounce upon our
black cats, clothing us in their white furs
& burying ours in our skin.

we have composed for ourselves –
anthems from o’er the seas,
casting our legs to dance ballet
to the spell of the strings of guitars,

our souls speak in clear tongues
we do not understand,
we have left on our doors –
prints of the fingers of their soft palm.

Ayoade Olamide is a poet, teacher and content creator who resides in Nigeria. His work has appeared twice in “Poetry in Motion” and his poems have won competitions like the Poetic Litany monthly edition. He aspires to become a better version of himself

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