SONS OF THE SUN

At the cry of the winged announcer
Backs must leave mats
Our lips must spew libation
And ill masticated kola
Into the waiting mouth of Amadioha
As we set out to break the morning earth, right foot first
When our backs break
In the heat of the sun
We will sling our hoes
And contrive our exodus
Retracing our steps, right foot first

When we overload our gullets
With starchy rewards of our labour
And dilute our wells of reason
With the palm tree‘s virtues
The moon comes to witness
The folklore of the cat
Whose back never touches the ground
When death calls
We will answer with a shout!

Written by: Josh Junior Okpata II

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