I Am The Stranger On My Land by Omosolape Ibrahim


The sound of guns has befriended our ears
The dreams of kids have been buried in a shallow graves
The drops of missiles is what rains on our roofs
The cadaver of men is like gobs of dead ants.

On my land, white cotton,
mat, and shovel are busier than men.
On my land, my balls have seen mansions turned to dust, 
hopes buried in graves, homes turned to cages,....

On my land, I have become the stranger
For the wanderer is ready to have a home,
but my faith shall survive the cruel fate of barrels
and my home will once again be a safe home.



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