| Omosun Sylvester Urdeen |
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THIRD WORD ABORTION
Showing me her arc shaped with unborn child the black woman came to me as if to say 'I am a part of all that you see' twacking the strings such nuance that linger on yet the notes sounded false every time the blade cracked forms in mid squat in the silence of blood among the cocoa leaves embryos severed from its source |
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Hut and Skins
I have none but hut and skins and the usual junks my people have yet I am a king in my own realm again within the endless plains in my poetry lies my profiles contentment in gutter education carving out my manuscript and claim my own kind tribes of men, men fitted with strong sinew bones larger harder like stumps conditioned by years of conquered illness heat from the field and dry winds mild wandering fashion of savage old to eat what only the rain and sun could give clothed here in my manuscript as I study the African literature. |
| THE AFRICAN SOUL
Afield the echoes scream, Deep within the alluvian of the African soul Squat and croaking in my conciousness things about arts found only in dreams trying to access my share of the brotherhood questions that pain has sought to kill the black man curriculumn teaching me about thyself... nourished anew along the Niger plains under the skin of a native beat as I study the African literature |
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