Hudhaifah Siyad

Rookie (16th oct 1990 / Kenya)

By the sword


Ya mum dead,  
To death bled,  
Ya dad fled,  
For fear of the feds. 

Now miles ahead,  
I still hear his word,  
'Kill him, by the sword',  
'Or spare him for the wood'. 

Now come here,  
Bastard! Here!  
Come near,  
And get me clear. 

On you,  
A milli on you,  
Now overdue,  
Willing to pay?
No, willing to die. 

Now in ya thirty,  
Master broke,
Not a penny,  
Master thought,  
A knife is handy,  
To end you like many. 

So,  
Tie that neck,  
To there at the back,  
Tie those feet,  
The same treat,  
Slice it neat,  
Then bury him next,
To his mother,  
To be complete.

Submitted: Monday, May 05, 2014

Topic of this poem: slavery


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