I Sold My Country. Poem by Raheem Lyttle Kiyaga

I sold my country on a diminutive credit,
I was driven away from the lights
and rights
To a bazzar,
Honestly, to a lurking trade show,
Where every vendor was enlivened
On what's going on,
And spying the entire biz district,
I couldn't wait to reach my stall,
I couldn't wait the next stop,
I went out through the window,
I left a trail into the bush to
my boss' home,
Two weeks before, I was there to register
And pick the participation license.
If shrubs could talk, they would
have expressed
How I engaged them, marking for absconds,
Weak and weary I pondered to his home.

Where I net the earlier ones
Served with a load slice and
A half cup of porridge.
Pronto I had arrived,
My fellows also did,
Joined them,
Soon again I heard a buzz,
Some louder behind the house,
'O my, said I, how was it there?
Villagers warned us, said they,
Though I had come to trade,
Here I sat engaged in guessing,
But no syllables
Expressing the inner me,
Whilst having my slice and that cup
To fill the empty tummy.

Then, lobby came. Highlighted
The crowd on how to trade,
Implored us to go to our stalls
In brackets of one to three,
I whispere into a friend's pinner
With a mutual mind,
We too have attended the matters
We don't know about! ?
Mwanainch, can't decide for their choices?
Though we needed money, that amused
More than annoyed me.

While lining for the products,
We blew into silent talks;
How will mwanainch build his state
When we are their choice makers?
How will we know the pain inside them?
It's my turn to.....
And the products on menu reads;
Bus,
Hoe,
Key,
Giraffe, and others,
Stand still gazing at this menu, nodding head,
Methinking of the aftermath,
Poking at the crowd, his family, all eyes on me,
Reminiscing of what I heard before,
Relatives, elders, dad and mum, siblings,
And the grandpa's, all depending on him.

No, I couldn't believe and object it,
All looking and imploring Allah
for the bestsells.
Stern news from other stalls,
Startled to the pallids.
While I nodded,
Distinctly I remember it was
Her sister, my friend got me in it,
A poor methought of the enolument,
Eagarly I wished the morrow,
Vainly I sold my country.