Nigger Poem by Haruna Garba

Blackamoor!
Yes, Nigger, why grieve?

You aren't a black sheep
You who blackmail not
But only a blacksmith
Smith of cast iron
Never too, a blackleg black panthers'
Black shahs' marts being white
Blacklisted you can't be, among blackguards
As you never fly a black flag

Don't be fed a sloe gin
For a black fever, you'd catch
And so be dispatched on some black death

You hear them praise black birds
And dig staring at the blackboard
See how they seek refuge in you
In anticipation of swift cranes-
Coming in devastatingly beautiful echelons
Yea, swifts and cranes
Black mart of the white
Working wares of the white smith