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.