These lines on my palms
are not palmar creases
they are the topography
of a place
where
the fossils
are a muss of
mildews and molds
Strangling the saplings
In this place,
Pens are deadlier than guns.
Honesty is a leper
and integrity
Is a chameleon of resources.
It is a bad place—this place.
and we must rescue
The good people of this place
From this place
And destroy this place
So, there is no place like this place.
Read – Hope for Future Years – A Poem by Rose Bih Ngwa, Cameroon
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