Hut and Skins
I have none but hut and skins
and the usual junks my people have
yet I am a king in my own realm again
within the endless plains
in my poetry lies my profiles
contentment in gutter education
carving out my manuscript
and claim my own kind tribes of men,
men fitted with strong sinew
bones larger harder like stumps
conditioned by years of conquered illness
heat from the field and dry winds
mild wandering fashion of savage old
to eat what only the rain and sun could give
clothed here in my manuscript
as I study the African literature
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