Agony Of Fusion Poem by Adookorn Auaduma

battered lives on the way
to early grave are made drunk
with the sour liquor of weight--

rattle birds caught in the wild and curbed
in coop of servitude -- we peep through
the vent of hungry cage to watch

unusual birds and locusts eat off
the fruits of our trees, the leaves and crops,
so free, so proud; they buzz and perch,

sing taunting songs of war, songs of birds
favoured by the gods

with broken pinion and sore throat we sing,
sing with voices kinda faint --
in pain and pang

we echoe our requiem in disarray
to lure the memories of yesterday to sleep --
how we used to eat of our trees and crops,
fly and nest before the fusion --

when weight was far overseas,
and tribalism was in the womb of time
while avaritia was in far distance land,

all waiting, for vanity from the burrow
of power, to fecundate the womb of weight

helpless unborn baby
we wail
yell
boo in the dark womb of yoke;
not been heard from the deep dark womb,

we bite the placenta of power
to impress our plight on the deaf ears
of chokehold

our berceuse lure the script writers
of our drama to sleep, as we dance the
lethal drums of amalgamation--
the fusion of beast and sheep in a hutch --

they sit back to watch as fun