PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Hear not the rythmic song

of my Pestle and Mortar.

Doubt the sleight of my hands.



Sing not the song of my vision

denigrate the ways

of my maternal economics.



Chain my neck with a yoke

of laws that choke

the depth of my brain.



Give me ideas that work not

in the core

of my nationhood.



Master of world economics

how accurate is your word-

that word that pierces like a sword?



Go have your fill of champagne

i have my own glass on the table-

my resourcefull land,



on it i will work.

I will take my grazing stick

and drive my herds to the field



my land shall flow with milk.

My game i must guard

with the zeal of a Leopard



guarding his precious kill

from lazy scavengers.

I must work on my cornfield.



Hear the rythmic song

Of Pestle and Mortar

drumming with renewed viguor.



On this open oven of the

African savannah

i bake my own dough.



Scarcely would i knock on your door.