and within, the words more ours came back to me
hunting savage lines against my memory
rhymes of black hands and feet and faces
The act of the unforgiving slaves
Recreated anew within me
My pen;
Responding to the fury in my mind
Like a blade of grass bending to the wind
My language as always was theirs
Their pain in my print was mine
I wrote as if it was a second tongue
because my rage has captured my poems utterly
As I write the pencil inflict deep sore
being wounded I edit this poetry
Gnawing away at these foreign vocabularies
And give my village grammar upper pages
in dialect-like signs buried deep in dreams To publish Odede-meh story
Sent from my BlackBerryŽ wireless handheld from Glo Mobile.
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