YOU, POET?

YOU, POET?

If I could ever answer this straight

Bet you me, I would get this right

I would, though the truth will seem too bright

Cause every time I’m always tight with fear.

What would I say, if asked?

Yet I’m always asked each night.

Do you not have eyes?

Have you left your sight at birth?

Oh, ye of little passion!

Where have you left your compassion?

Why daily undermine me-

Why taunt me with disbelieve?

Search my works

And you shall find.

Do I always have to boast in myself?

That; yea I am a poet-

An African poet of course?

 Need me bigger glasses,

And long grey hair to prove?

When I play with words,

And control your emotions.

When I beat your minds whenever I lie in metaphor.

Confuse you with anastrophe,

When I remind you of your own selves with allusions?

When I sway your souls

To mysterious lands with anagrams

And when I rhyme you nod your heads to the schemes?

Yea I’m a poet

And if that is what you want to hear me spit

I’m a poet and an African poet.

But the fact that I don’t write anything about Africa

Doesn’t mean I hate my origin

And being an African poet doesn’t mean

I should always be tied to

The apron of my past histories.

A poet should be free to write what is given him

By inspiration and not try to steal

From the archives of heaven

Just to prove and impress

Yearning souls who really want to suck

From the nipples of racial pride

That yes he is really an African.

Yes I’m a poet an African poet

For that matter

So curse me you if you feel I write like none

Hate me you if you feel I sound like not

But trust me you, a poet is a poet

Whether African or not

And I write what is given me by

Inspiration not

What to prove that yea

Truly I’m an African.  

---Fampah Coyish---

© By Fampah Coyish-Awoken By Poems 2014