Stephen Okereke Micheal writes

I CAN BE THE PRESIDENT

Padlock the gate of your heart

Cleansing it within and without

If you still nurse the blind belief

That kings are birthed from golden wombs.

Forget the known and unknown golden eggs

Laid and hatched over the seas

Bread-and-buttered with the masses' spoon

Bearing in mind to come home someday

And continue where their fathers stopped.

Don't gaze at the valley in search of me

White paps are products of black pots

And the ghettos, home town of twinkling stars

Beautifying the sky when the sun goes to bed.

If the throne could be mounted

By a seed sowed and watered in the creek

Who roamed with feet kissing the thorns

The rain can rain again

I can be the President.

Padlocked Heart -- poetess16