Mining A Poetry Or mending A Poetry Poem by Blessing Asake

I see no cure in mining poetry,
We write just to please our soul,
When our limits is off then we back out.

What cure are we using for our soul, in mending our world, what if we refuse to learn their language?
Or the so call Africa introduction.

In their style we are nothing,
A cake of metaphor we all wish to have one, a pieces of alliteration my heart meant a golden lust.

I see no cure in mining poetry
We make our language to suit them
Is just a small world, we are making our language forbidden.