Finding tracks

We are in abundance
Yet we complain of darkness.

Inside pits, that are shallow;
We hide behind the shadow.

Our melanin we pour ore
Under the hot scorching sun;

Hot-cakes fly like birds, to lands
Where they can be better brands.

Leaving behind, the half baked
To dictate, the give and take,

Talking; whereas, as critics
We bury the beams and rays

Yet we beg for candlelights
From the waxes we burnt out.

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Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu