Big Chop
The hair grew
tired of its own length.
Cut ti(th)es like a tenth.
Neither hanging on by a dread
nor wedded to time spent
interlocking
when parting
would be a lovely gift—
not a rift
but a natural drift
made swift
by the blunt edge of a sword.
No time to ponder over years of stored hoard.
Whether together or apart
the heart grows both fonder and bored.
—–
Split
Instead of working with the resources at hand,
you’d rather abandon the land of your mother
for a criminal other
whose topography doesn’t mirror
your image
nor the village of your youth:
Coiled hair must relax.
Adopt the mzungu syntax.
See,
me is you!
No,
don’t conflate the two.
The herd believes
they come in third,
which is absurd given
Africa’s stature.
If first is the worst, second the best,
and third the one with the treasure chest,
then why do we adamantly contest
Her position?
Our mission is to unify
the division between our disparate
selves.
—–
Poems (c) Adeola Awe
Image: Jr Korpa Unsplash