Dear my city,
Stories were once told of
How diamonds grew on your soil
Of how liaison was your anthem
Of how attention was your thing of beauty
But your grace is burned down in the scorners’ heat
There is screaming found in your country seat
Your agony, torment and misery are placed on repeat
Across the lawn, lies the pawn
Tossed across, around and away
Placed on a foundation of death
Your curse lies in the ruins of blood
Where your nutrients are mixed with its cud
At every intersection
Your taxis of sorrow
Strip pedestrians of hope
Filling those thirsty souls with puddle water
My city, once on the concrete of gold
Now thy glory lies in the desolation of waste.
By Ekene Ngoka
Follow on Instagram @craxymikey
