They Sit Astride My People

Skewered like suya

Left to roast under the scorching sun of

Servitude,

            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