Primed years of my ancestors

Those days, the wicked did not have the leverage to dine their nefarious hands inside the sweet porridge soup of deceptive glory, the sun refused to cloth their naked brutality with adoration. The earth did smile with an abundance of a plethora of men and women of unquestionable integrity. Sadly, these were the days of hidden clouds of beautiful mother earth, the

primed past years of my ancestors buried inside the belly of history, never to rise again.


From Bulututu Ozuah