Blend in, don’t stand out, I want to be like “them”
It’s how you don't get a label or tag
it's the way not to be “them” and loose your place
"Them" those from the far away land
Wandering beyond their reach for breech
Searching for bread and gold to feed
so a hero's home coming might sound their gong.
Bet they tag you still
The one who feast on stones without gulping drink
My ilk tell me they are the ones
With oil running soup
They love me when I act like them
They jeer when I become my own
Yet my own feel I’m not kin enough
That I lack the brute to bash and brash
the sleek skin and glitz to glide my trough.
Still across the Niger, home doesn't feel like home
The best i get is a museum cheer
Like a dainty doll they stroke and coo
My complexion a wonder, my dress a blunder
This doll whose ways is not our rule
Whose walk like rebel may not be tamed
I long to echo them, but sound like another bell.
My identity was formed from the Babel sounds
I hear image of loudness and uncouth talk
I tasted a sort from my native sand
But fell short of their custom 'cos I smelt of those from hither land
Not having the accent from nwa'ani
Too free to be us, to open to become us
Never fed in our ways so can't walk our path.
Do they know I bask in news of them?
Dancing when they break new strides
Sad when i feel them broken
I’m fast to defend their stance and depth
Easily tilted to their want, yet trying hard to be those ones
Even my silence is heard amigst those others
Yet not acknowledged amongst my own.
Then came a day the mirror spoke
You are you and not their tag
Your label is what you design and sell
Show your wit and be your own
Know you daily, make you merry
You are made in all colours of them
If they ever look in those shattered mirror
They will identify their faces in all of you.
I stop chasing them, started knowing me
In knowing, i became a more loving me.
