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