An Ode to a Defeated People

Oh, my country, when shall ye finish licking thy wounds?

It’s 2024, and the black man is still caged, caged in a slavish mindset that makes him think himself less than a white man

Soon, it shall be a century since the white man left, but not much has changed in these lands

He’s just a different kind of master now; he handed the koboko to the black man to keep his fellow black men in line

The white man never has to do the dirty work if there’s a handy black man willing to do it for him; that has always been the arrangement

Again, I repeat, not much has changed

But how do I wake my people from this silly dream?

How do I convince them to stuff their ears with kernels of wisdom as the sirens call in the depths of pain and agony?

Many before me have written and sung beautifully to put up a mirror to the black man, yet their efforts went to naught

Did their words lack luster?

Was it not reflective enough for them to see their beauty?

Whatever it is, not much has changed

They remain a defeated people