In the eyes of many an ignorant
We’re arranged like an orrange
Each in our hugging line within
Our African cover making a distinction impossible
Blackness is our definition
Tonal scenting is our stamp
When we are a coalition of big farms
With many cultural plantations
II
But we are cruely cut into
…for bites
In four equal parts
…or two
…or even a little part on the head
To suck our juices of harmony and chew our fibres of wealth
III
How a touch affects the whole is frightening
Yet farmers watch as seeds drop
…wherever
…whenever
Growing through need and scenting the rot
If only we can fence with the wires of self do
In trade and aid
And build us by ourselves
To cut off pests feasting on us!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © September 21, 2019
