June 14, 2021
June 14, 2021


Written by Sola Doja

For thoughts that’d never soar
beyond my pressed neck
whirling, twirling
dancing to the naked rhythm
of the captives’ tom-tom.

For dreams that died
of lack of watering
as seedlings denied sunlight wither.

For aspirations that faltered
with poor visions – batterings
do no good to men,
the eyes that will last a lifetime
does not rheum at first light.

Bound am I to nought and all
to the chains of oppression,
jealousy and hate,
to matters of folly,
snares of wickedness
in a land where nothing good dares
to thrive.

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