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.
Wow!
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A bitter lament
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