An 18year old Nigerian's poem about the helpless african child

Black Gold - Eke Victor

Some say i am unfortunate,
Some say i look unkempt,
Some say i am the perfect definition of poverty
But some say i'm a leader of tomorrow.
How could they? In these tattered clothes?
I see but slavery and ill-luck.

Weep o African Mother!
For your fruits have been trampled upon
We are now left with the question
Were we born in the wrong land?
With trays and bowls on our heads,
We are now bread-winners with little daily
bread.
Assaults and harassments we have learnt to
bear.

We are your greatest assets,
Yet deep inside us, you left a discovered gold
unrefined,
Then, if thou bothers not to refine this gold,
We shall become the street-lords
Government deeds shall be undone by our
riotous power
The city will take to its heels, for the monsters
we shall become.

With cigarette sticks in our black lips,
Smokes of fears will fog thy hearts
Is that when you shall remember to dial 911?
It is summer now, yet you have forgotten to
make hay,
Now you see us go astray, but have decided to
overlook.

In your annual budget, you have kicked us out,
With those long lists of allocation,
We, your "leaders of tomorrow" have gotten
nothing,
When elections are nigh then we'll become
weapons for campaign,
With the likes of Yerima, our girl children are
now brides.
May your conscience continue to prick you all.

O African Mothers! Arise and fight for this
course
Without thee, our words are like screensavers
before them.
We are thy offsprings! Thy pride!
The leaders of tomorrow, yet the leaders of
today's hawkers,
Hear our cry, come to our rescue.
Culled From: Vick Poems '13