From the stream
To the deepest rim
Of thoughts ravaged by storms
Of the very nights brightened by drums
Heavy pestles hitting the mortar
Yes! The pounded yam we ate as brothers
All but memories buried under the baobab tree
That was cut and buried on a spree
Now it is all about money
Greed that tastes better than honey
A violent sketch of barbaric aura
Poisoning our souls like cobra
The hut, now burnt and set ablaze
For civilization to cast its glaze
Your brothers out to kill you at dusk
For a penny, pray you don't run out of luck
There's no peace seeker
Violence! No brother's keeper