​Sister, the heat is too much

Let us sleep on the floor,

And let us feel and hear

The sighs of our ancestors underneath

Mama, will you pray for our soul? 

That this breath I breathe won’t Leave and go, 

And for clean water

To drown in my throat.

Papa, these mosquitoes are evil o

And I’m weary of slapping myself –

That used to be your job

Doesn’t death know your children miss you?

And when will we have yam,

The palm oil is tired

Of sitting at the bottom 

Of the bottle, and my mind. 

                                            -Leonard Epidi