First Gong Vol. 8: Thrust FIRST GONG 8 THRUST | Page 101

SENDING - Akeem Adetayo Oyalowo
To the shadows of doubt, that gave birth to Thomas
I hear your call, I heed your summon
He is breathing life, you may call him someone
Born broken, yet able
He walks with a dirty plate, plastic and fabled
That, along with tatters hanging on his back
defines him as living a life, defined by lack.
Windows closed,
Same as your soul
Watching him makes your teeth gnash
Irritant on earth-lines
The crumbs he picks puts a spring in his steps
The last bite of a donut,
The burnt remains of a filled pot
The tasteless remains
left by a gate, which could have been meant for a dog,
Is what he finds, and takes himself to be in luck
He is one of us, he is even more human
Watching out for his gang
with whom spoils are shared
They are running races, often seen in good cheer
I have worried about cold nights
Yet the manner of approach, invokes pity but it may be served along with a warm
smile
Slave to the farmer in planting season
This isn’t the land of his birth, he was donated without feeling
I need a mother’s name, I need a home address
I need a father’s number, he needs to know I’m not impressed
I need to sue society, on behalf of them I seek redress
To the rich men whose greed will not aid distribution
I seek vengeance, I seek retribution
Take away pap and curved spoons
Watered in minutes less than an hour, are those sugarless spoonfuls
If they leave you to us, we are not yet lions
Tamed by a mallam, we are cast in spiritual irons
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