A LOST IDENTITY

Brothers and sisters,
Who are we?
Our true identities distorted by these tale twisters,
Who make our past and future impossible to see.

The white men came in their vessels to our land,
Chained our ancestors and dragged them through the sand,
Against their captors did they struggle,
To their vessels did their captors scuttle.

All at once they cast them from their home,
And left them befuddled,
All of our resources did they comb,
Upon them like locust to the plantation had they plagued.

The docks of the white mans land appeareth in the distance,
A journey which for centuries would cloud our existence,
They took our ancestors up into cities in chains,
All for their inhuman and sickening gains.

Generation upon Generation our people suffered immense pain,
This hardship rendered many insane,
They left us with nothing but poverty in our lives,
And upon the profit of our resources their land thrives.

They inflicted them with such great humiliation,
Sentenced to a lifetime of labour upon the white man's plantation,
War amongst us was their own creation,
Yet portray themselves wielders of salvation.

Everything the white man hates about a black man
is what the black man hates about himself,
Confirming we have no true perception of ourselves,
A problem years ago it began.

For years they have fed our minds with images of inferiority,
Psychologically programmed to be the minority,
Brothers and sisters let us make it a priority,
To eternally rid our minds of such utter vulgarity.

What is so slave-like about our color?
I believe our difference in all respect gripped the white man's fascination,
Out of jealousy around the necks our ancestors like dogs he strung collars,
And in search of our riches and resources began he is endless navigation.

Why was there a scramble for Africa?
A land where its people were referred to as beasts,
Over the land of these beasts did they wage war amongst one another,
And today portray themselves as the Holy priests.

Our ancestors struggled to regain their freedom,
Yet the only struggle we engage in is to go to the land of our captors,
This is a time for redemption,
We are not inferior but we are survivors.

Why do we handle our history with such levity?
We are to be blamed for the loss of our identity,
Resist the strength of their hypnosis with zealotry,
Lest we face the bitter penalty,
In which of our existence we sing an elegy.

Adesina Aanuoluwapo John - 2015