my civilized brother.

My brother read the white wisdom,

of men and women overseas-

and he called it a civilized civilisation.

He says he crossed oceans,

in a flying motoka°

he ate, drunk, danced and dined with the whites;

these baby-skinned creatures.

My brother came back a white in black skin,

on the village walk-ways he avoided dirt darkened handshakes;

that previously shared in his plate of posho°

This civilized brother, looking at my bare feet with disgust-

he forgets my sweet native name, he calls me Nanii°-

so he does my language.

He speaks through the nose,

as though with a cold in a rainy August-

when roast corn is our daily bread.

Bunguswa Writes.