Alexander K Opicho (Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)
Let me take my poetry to the bottom of African latrine As clearly directed by my colonial master, After he read and failed to sing my poem Which I wrote and troubdoured on the digital platform, Of social poem hunters dot commercial My poem’s title was; ode to the heart of the racist, Which I sang as a melody of an anti racist Singing to echo the rights of humanity, Beyond the skinflint castle of the skin Without charm to offend any specific race, But a special dedication to the people living in Diaspora. My dear reader from anonymous country Neither England nor America of Canada, Read my poetry in feat of amok seizure With strong spasm to lynch an African poet, His civilized comment was worst case of universal ignorance That crystallized into arsenal to condemn my poem By desperately demanding that I take my mauverick poem To the stark depth of fresh African latrine, His civilization left me bamboozled to my possible hilt; As his ghastly condemnation sent me to deep frenzy of wonderment; Why a civilized comment must be abusive Why anti racism poetry must be ghastly condemned Why songs of racial freedom should be heinously decimated Why songs of home nostalgia In the bigotry ridden Diaspora abodes Must be taken to the bottom of African latrine? I beg your pardon my dear master, Allow me to take my poetry To the top surface of a white latrine.