Their unrhythmical voices,
Yes the babarians’ voices.
With the pitch of their voices
Being as high as the soprano singers
Only that theirs is that of noise and not
Melodious to the ear.
The shouts and screams of the street people
Can provokingly wake a dead man
And make him demand silence from the living world.

At the opposite side of the road
Is a burnt skinned midget
With her Afro hair as full as
The branches of a grown tree
And her hair as curly as the coils
Of a telephone wire.
Her face is as beautiful as a bull dog
And her skin is cotton feel.

At the opposite end of the road
Is the burnt skinned midget
Who is me.
Cursed to look identical to apes
But blessed with the gift of
Making words unite
To form a beautiful meaning.

Like a tall tree ,
I stand motionless.
My feet are rooted to the ground
I watch with glee.
The fight between an “Okada” man and a policeman
A typical fight and struggle between a Lion and its prey
But here, they are both the lion and prey.
Both trying to oppress the other.

I hear the “Okada” man screaming “ injustice”
And the policeman yelling
“ I can arrest you”
The fight scene is like a magnetic field
Attracting some people,
Making them gather like a group of disorganized schoolchildren
And repelling some people,
Making it seem like they’re blind and deaf.
While people like me
Stand glued to the opposite end of the road
Watching in amusement and glee.

They sure will definitely resolve the issue
This is my country.


I love anything art.

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