I am not an African
In fact I don’t like being an African
It’s so limiting
I am not an Indian
In fact i don’t like being an Indian
It’s so narrow
I am not even human
If being human means bekng limited
By definition
I am not my religion
it is so ancient
And sometimes not in a good way
I am not conjoined by race or creed
Not defined by race or greed
Of definition I have no need
I am not even myself
For that is selfish
In a fishy kind of way
I am not my consciousness
In an unconscious kind of way
I am not nothing
And I am not something
Not even everything
I am not a riddle
Or even an answer
and not a question
I am not my thoughts
Or what I am thought of
I am not this and certainly not that
I am not an African
Begging to die
The day breaks but it has no meaning,
We find no reason to live.
Hunger is unbearable but it already seems normal.
We live in shelter not suitable for humans.
Are we worth anything?
Do we mean something to anyone?
The world produces twice as much needed but we see no evidence of this.
Our Babies have no milk to drink and they die of hunger.
Watching our children’s hunger is worse than death itself.
Our leaders have abandoned us.
Humanity has abandoned us.
Where do we go?
What do we eat?
What do we do?
All we can do is cry for help but it falls on deaf ears.
There is nothing we can do but beg for death.
Life is not worth living.
