YOUR VARDICT PLEASE (MY DYING WORDS)

The whites, foreigners on our big fat lands
Your toil and family’s all in their hands.
But this was justified; they were not of our own
Then our own people took over after they were gone,
And yet we still continued to suffer under the same loads.
If anything it is even more pain knowing the lords
Are black, with vast lands now lying empty
While squatters became plenty
And the promise of land redistributions remained
          unkept; among many all over Africa.

Now as leaders blacks or whites
Who would you rather fight, for you rights?
          Son you verdict please!
No keepi’ safe with you, and I hope ‘ts not a bother
          to live through you, ‘cause my own life is over.
Let me live through ma dying words.
My son Africa. 

                                                          Kennedy O. Oketch