Taking My Poetry To The Bottom Of African Latrine Poem by alexander opicho

Let me take my poetry to the bottom of African latrine
As clearly directed by my colonial master,
After he read and failed to sing my poem
Which I wrote and troubdoured on the digital platform,
Of social poem hunters dot commercial
My poem’s title was; ode to the heart of the racist,
Which I sang as a melody of an anti racist
Singing to echo the rights of humanity,
Beyond the skinflint castle of the skin
Without charm to offend any specific race,
But a special dedication to the people living in Diaspora.
My dear reader from anonymous country
Neither England nor America of Canada,
Read my poetry in feat of amok seizure
With strong spasm to lynch to an African poet,
His civilized comment was worst case of universal ignorance
That crystallized into arsenal to condemn my poem
By desperately demanding that I take my mauverick poem
To the stark depth of fresh African latrine,
His civilization left me bamboozled to my possible hilt;
As his ghastly condemnation sent me to deep frenzy of wonderment;
Why a learned comment must be abusive
Why anti racism poetry must be ghastly condemned
Why songs of racial freedom should be heinously decimated
Why songs of home nostalgia
In the bigotry ridden Diaspora abodes
Must be taken to the bottom of African latrine?
I beg your pardon my dear master,
Allow me to take my poetry
To the top surface of a white latrine.