Accapella Poem by Okello Baloyi

I speak of black child, attached to downside history, with nothing to live for but my work is tremendous, as my whimper is taken for granted

How likely do you heed a person who has no commercial value? , I went all out and still I'm unknown, as if my words perish within my inner self

Potentially people I hang around with or whom I know, but the world is designed to scorn my race for infinite, where unity is bought endlessly