Identity Poem by Felix Emeka George

I am a Cain,
I live life In the aftermath
Of a brother's blood stain.
Life pedestrian,
Encountering questions, seeking answers.

How I claim black history,
With fair flesh,
is it black?
To me, I am black and Brown with pride.
No more than a majesty split
King and Queen on a throne
Of different colours sitted.
The physical being,
A composite of
My colour and spirit.
After the teeth of war-on mother land

My name is white
Of the missionaries' forged sins.
Yet absolute,
In vision-ing and mission-ing a black heart.

For souvenir appears
after a farmer's cotton
is cheaply taken akin stealing,
No attention of the mind
Or you just maintain still?
I have no tongue,

After subsuming two hundred kingdoms in one.
Our countenance slowly, stealthy is on rails
The snail home bordering force.
In the grind of war,
Leader and dealer
becomes a notorious
riot trade route.

A question for kings and princes.
I know you are born to rule
Your survival is rooted deep in the earth
You are conceived of God in us,
Hence you are employed
To teach and we know.
At the dancing arena,
Your dancing steps rhyme.
To call by gone earth-birth,
Of no contribution, or identity.
And forgot by invention of necessity that stream sources matter.
And question as prejudiced your worshipper.