Our Blood Poem by Adookorn Auaduma

Flux of grume weighed on index of legend
prompt songs and dance, a favour nature
planted in the blood of the common blacks
to occlude the surge of sorrow from the
corridor of power on their sable hearts

No other gift cockles the blood of blacks,
aria and dance crisp their artless heart
like billow at the threshold of the sea

this gift permits no indifference,
but the symbol of our ebony heritage:
the flatten nose of sapience, and four-ply
lips of esurience, configures me conspicuous
as truly black, and not the half-bake blacks
that barter conscience for greed and power

they eat tomorrow cake for today
with crimson palms, and label their greed
in fantabulous term of political reformation;
with the enchanting tongues of Eden serpent,
they sing to correct the ills of eon ago and
cock us in lasting abyss of poverty

then soar on flamboyant wing of opulence
and spill our wailing blood in half-naked
subconscious drama of power,
at the crossroads of greed.