One blood
Is what we all bleed
One broom
Is that which we should be
Our bane should not be our sispicion
Our truth pervades our ink, our minds;
Our gong, our proverb.
Africans must pay the African, restitution
To cleanse the African machete
Of crying blood.
For our unity has reticently slept here near
Awaiting a tap to rise.
If and when we would decide to read poetry or a piece of discerning article a day, our world is, then headed for a change. No magic potion whatsoever: if there were, politicians would have used it a long time ago. Our mind is all that we have; the only exception to tricks of all corners and angles. Enjoy the luxury and peace of poetry...
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