They Sit Astride My People

Skewered like suya
Left to roast under the scorching sun of
            This people is suffering.

Sun up to sun down they toil
Premature silver strands
Adorn their crowning glory.

School bells chime
Classrooms peter out
Pupils invade the streets
Peddling sachet water.

They sit astride this people
Riding roughshod over them
My people, their beast of burden
And they show no twinge of contrition
No iota of compassion.

But how can they?
When they have been scarred to numbness
By the heat of their own turpitude


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