Poetry: Tend to your own Garden
By Majekodunmi Oseriemen Ebhohon
THE big white hounds are in the yard,
Growling over a map on the wall.
Do not step between them, my brother,
Do not try to calm the rabid beasts,
Do not disturb the feasting dogs,
Let the pack tear themselves apart.
For years they walked our lands in boots,
Pricing our cocoa, our copper, our oil.
They sat in Washington, London, and Brussels,
Dividing the earth like a loaf of bread,
Taking the cream and leaving the husk.
But look closely at their palace today—
The master is biting his own hounds.
The American bulldog snarls at his European cousins,
The British terrier isolates himself in the cold,
The French mastiff snaps blindly in the dark
Fighting over pipelines, tariffs, and stolen gold,
Building walls against each other,
Printing sanctions that choke their own throats.
Locked in a cage of their own greed,
They rip out fur for a share of the loot.
Do not cry for them, my sister,
Do not pray for peace in their crumbling house.
When thieves hack at their own hands,
Does the traveller run to save the machete?
Sit quietly by your hearth.
Tend to your own garden.
Let the big dogs eat themselves to the bone.
