By Joshua Omeke
The scent of paper
Can you smell it? The mint notes released from the Central Bank?
Can you feel it, only a few grams but your passion relies on its stack?
Can you work for it? All your life you are bound for her needs.
Inflation is your worst enemy when getting it
But is it not greed to want what you do not own so bad
Remember the days we danced around fires
And lived the code of the bata
Planted corns, yam, beans and more seeds sown
To reap a harvest was behold the glorious fold.
Not this paper bills, plastered of dead presidents
Have me and my friends working 9-5 p.m.
Struggling in this hard life
But it is okay.
My taste buds are satisfied by the scent of this paper.
Native Phoenix
Can you see the fire?
Wildfire begetting cold ash
The tiredness from the burns radiate my blackness, frustrated from the hardship in my land I ran my Bp into stress
So high in flow yet weak in spirit
Is this the life I am living? Daily struggles of hardship
No promise of a better tomorrow, just hope longing for moments to surpass despair,
I am on my own long, lonely and overthrown
Some day, the ashes shall become fine powder
Used to sedate the dull pain I sustained
Cover up the shame I could not take
Hiding from my pairs in high place
Whilst I hope I get all I have prayed for.