Who Shall Tend To The Bruises On Our Backs? Poem by David Olusanya

How shall we tell the heralding tale,
that you and I had our mother for sale?
Who shall tend to the bruises on our backs,
if the detest the truth that we are Browns?

Would ours lord over other lands,
if we witlessly pet our arrogant hands?
What peace is it to part with the past,
when the same circle eclipse us so fast?

Why do we choose to be the champions' laurel
and give ourselves to cruelty and quarrel?
When shall we cease to be a lone wide lake,
that never would give, but toiling to take?

We yet feed on flakes of the bread we bake.
When shall our eyes open to a new break?
Shall we always hang on hope to be our solace,
and cry into eternity till we flood our place?

Remember the blood of the bold,
who submitted their souls to fence our fold.
Shall we not honor their free-born death?
And give our mother a brand new breath.

David O. Olusanya