I put on the shoes of my ancestors and great was the pain I felt.
Africa, you sold your children for your reflection.
Your begotten seed lay sick on the waters en route across the Atlantic to estrange land.

 The man with blue eyes and a narrow nose took your child and left you with a mirror. 
Yes look at your face and be ashamed of yourself.

A stench of ignorance that would be forever remembered with you.

Written by: Elijah Enenche Peter.
©The Night Owl Poetry (2022).