Sell-Out by David Diop

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Brother-teeth flashing in the cant of compliments

Brother-gold-rimmed glasses

Across eyes that go blue at a word from the Master 

Poor brother in your silk-lined tuxedo 

Chatter and whisper and swagger through condescending

drawing-rooms

We pity you

The sun of your land is no more than a shadow 

Across the calm brow of a civilized man

And your grandmother's but

Reddens a face whited by the bowing and

Scraping of years 

But when you are sick of the words as sounding and empty

As the cash-box perched on your shoulders

You will tread the African earth bitter and red 

And your restless steps will be to the rhythm of this tormented refrain

Alone here alone how all alone I feel!