Today I feel no kinship with the human race.
I’m sorry,
but today I feel affinity with clotting blood
smeared on a pitted ghetto street,
beside the broken skull of an alien child,
barely ten winters old.
crushed by the triumphant indifference
of the ruling race

I’m sorry. For I know how infra dig this sounds,
especially when I estimate
the days and months of blinkless surveillance
you’ll now invest in me;
but up there in the cynic skies
I see your rockets’ frozen flatulence
and wonder what you sought,
so far above the earth,
when everywhere I turn
the cries of dying children fill my ears…

Today! I feel no kinship with the human race
for when his alien scream perjured the air
my heart confessed its truth!
That’s how I know I’m alien too,
like him, an outsider
There are many, many restless aliens
stalking all your streets

Tonight, when claret dams rupture,
don’t expect squeamishness from me,
when grey wakes end in the mist of flashing skies…
I know how terrorist this sounds!
coming from one so conformist!
…but I have seen polished members of the human race
dining with dismembered portions of the avian race.
I have seen courteous, lipsticked, napkined smiles,
pausing awhile to masticate
- and know that norms of decency
have no bearings beyond the pale of race…

Tonight! When I steer angers into crimson streams,
don’t expect decency when brooks begin to brim,
for your pacifists will turn their backs to the butchers,
only to belly up to the dinner
once the gory deed is done…

Tonight! I’ll feel no kinship with the wicked race
when judgement’s angel stalks,
but heed this warning; let every quickened man beware.
For every clotted drop will tell its tale to me,
‘and I’ll raise every sleeper of your race
to come account to Me.

Tonight’.

* From Chuma Nwokolo: ‘Memories of Stone’. Lagos: Villagerhouse 2006. Reproduce with the permission of the author.

* Chuma Nwokolo is a writer and advocate from Jos, Nigeria, and is writer-in-residence at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, England.