By Yomi Oguntoyinbo
Bags of cowries travel abroad Through the back doors Inheritances our fathers left us Mysteriously disappear To enrich sons of other land This, the gimmickry of beloved brothers
Thingamajig, thingamabob, thingy… It drops in our soul. As the night manoeuvres the day They, the destiny of the people Changing the course of things to come The more we see the less we become.
Now, we are left with nothing But a future stolen Generations unborn, like the camel This burden to bear so cruel