The Fringe Of Our Land Poem by Eche Ononukwe

Long, long ago

when, they say, we liv’d in huts,

in peace and in plenty we dwelt;

then came those ov’r-ripp’d pawpaws;

sermons, they preach’d

in their huge cathedrals of doom.



Just in our land,

In captivity, they held us –

and made us pass’d thro’

that Great Sea to their sugar plantation,

looking like a harsh-snowy-strange land.

Seeming not okay with this,

they landed with their politics,

dooming our aged culture as nefarious-inferior.

But we fought and fought ‘em

and had our real self.



Long, long aft’r our freedom,

a people, the Great Strugglers

from the Jewish family,

dwelling by the side or across the River Niger,

east of our homeland and omnipresent in all,

we engag’d in a civil brawl;

no victory, no vanquish we declaim,

but in our heart of hearts,

sorrows and tortures we have for ‘em:

depriv’d, we make ‘em;

detain’d, we shall get ‘em;

and desolat’d, shall their land be to ‘em;

for rebels they had been and want to be.

Freedom fight’rs they are:

the fringe of our land shall they be!

But we’re born to rule and reign in plenty.