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Sokoto Town

The clicks the wind makes,
The sound of cars driving pass,
The rumble of desires, colliding with lack,
The look of hungry desperate, depression.

The farmers did farm, they laugh last but for a while,
Killings trading in the markets like gold,
The calloused marketing of the soul,

I notice the Almajiri and the woman driving a Jeep,
I see the man giving in to circumstances,
The red face of the earth, the fair move of the solar,

Sokoto people and their merchants,
The North calling for Justice, for the women bent back picking, from the slums to eat,
Walking barefooted afraid for the suckling on her laps.

The clear sky’s and the gray clouds,
The cry of creative kids roaming, aimlessly on a Monday morning,
The lazy feet’s of strong healthy males selling out.

Why am I even here,
In this very quieting un-challenging surface?
No sound for a thirsty poet,
No swagger for a needy romantic
No proper upheaval that ascends the poor.

For the hungry though I will stay,
For the sake of Light, I will follow,
And for a kingdom come I will remain,
Chasing inspiration, exuding deliverance, speaking change, loving the unlovable, being grace and giving hope.

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