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The poem is about the harmful effects of the “brain-drain” syndrome. It implies that the developed countries overtly and covertly frustrate the domestic environment in African countries so as to make the idea of migration appealing. By migrating in droves in search of the proverbial greener pastures, African nationals leave their mother countries weak, powerless, unproductive and prone to underdevelopment.


We all are  castaways
From the bowels of Motherland.  

We have lost,
The cream and dream of our land;
Our bounteous harvests curdled with desire are lost
To ferocious flood waters gushing with gurgling greed,   
Carting our treasures to the Canadian Prairies of roaring lights
And heaping our gems on the snow-capped Pampas of Argentina.  

We’ve been shaved clean, to our bare skin,
By the barber of Gaol and the Guillotine,
With the clipper of gun and the bayonet.
Our heads now draw full,
The blazing shape of the late morning Sun.  
We’ve been shorn
Of our best and brightest, our crown and smartest.
Our finest men can scarcely fight the allure
Of the amorous songs
From importunate seductresses.
Our biggest fishes hardly swim away
Through tiny holes In the fisherman’s dragnet.  

We now lie secure (or think we do)
In verdant fields draped with silk
And scented with lavender.
Our tongues are stretched taut,
Like sharp assegai,
Savouring enchanted honeydew
From tantalizing white fingers.      

under the sheets
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