samuel munachim


In The Workhouses - Poem by samuel munachim

In the workhouses
The slaves are pit
Against one another while
The masters are in palaces
Enjoying themselves.
We are the black monkeys
Of Africa, in the sun we work
And even when we go to school
It is to envy the brainy lad;
We kill him at work
Because his star shines too bright
We hate him strut like
The whiteman
We hate the whiteman too,
But as he is too powerful
We vent the hate on
His black imitation.


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Robert Frost

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening



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Poem Submitted: Friday, July 14, 2006

Poem Edited: Monday, August 16, 2010


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