The lost treasure

I long to trace the texture of your skin

And find the rough and velvety patches of your soul

I crave to find your wings

My hands are angry and they want to commit acts

Of malicious harm to the cage of the viper

They will call it malicious because dictionaries and laws

Are all theirs and for their nests

Our fields have long been attacked by pests

Where are you

Can you feel my heart-beat

Mine is palpitating and yelling at your congregation

Aliens act in unison, I heard from fables

Before smokes and heinous flames

We were well-heeled as the bees and their honey

I wish my arse could be a mine of honey

Your empty palms make me dig brooks on my cheeks

I am moving within ruins and wretches of souls

My feet are pained by the wrinkles on my people ‘souls

A making stripped off self-spots

But we know a giraffe is of spots

And a zebra is of stripes

All that our palms stretch to hold

And all that it tenaciously clung to

Isn’t a portion of our harvest

We need to cut the poison tree
Does poetry know of colour

As in the rainbow, the snows and tar

Where is our rightful place; is it afar

I try to open inner atoms like a lover

But I want to scroll on these pint size makings

Black slate, kiss my people and feed them with pride

Diaspora’s second death shouldn’t be a miscarriage