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My futile struggle caught the jaded eyes Of multitudes in our declining West. When your displeasure led you to devise Against me, I could not abide the jest, Could not peer out in wonder from my cell, Though you gave many chances, showed my face To me as in a mirror, showed me Hell In me and in my unrepentant race. Soyinka knew me better than the Greek Who first recorded our one-sided fight Because he knew more centuries of bleak And rigid souls immured in willful night, And he best imaged your delight and dread: Sweet red wine drunk straight from my severed head. |
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