The lines on my palms describe a future but the lines at my finger tips tell stories that trace back to my past.
2007 souls were swept into the unknown
Corps buried alone
And yes,
They all died accompanied by fading prayers.
Our nation was drowning in fear
Children sulking to mama Africa
While Kenya lied on her knees with tribalism echoing in her womb
We were surrounded by silent political drama
Not to be heard by the world
But our hearts wept with a very loud heartbeat
Our veins grew furnaces
Our rage summoned the wrath of the sun.
We were lost deep underneath the ocean floor of tribalism
Afraid to drown while trying to teach other souls to escape these oceans and live ashore
They watched from afar
Saying,"who am I to change the stereotype_let nature take its course"
We segregated ourselves
The blind with the blind
The deaf with the deaf
The mute with the mute
And we couldn't understand each other
We became too faithfool that we believed that the rest were born in a wrong body or wrong identity sphere
We acted like reincarnated idiots
Not knowing that tears and blood are the only visible products of war
It's ten years down the line
Dresses of widows have been washed white by the salty tears they have wept
We still can't rest with a silent mind and a non-violent soul
We curse our own reflections
Then cleanse our looks with a race changing lotion
We chew our own flesh with teeth that remove melanin
Lick our larynx with foreign ascents as we despise our own identity
For too long have we choked ourselves and vomit our purpose
I write to both young and old sapien beings
Those with words dwelling in their tongues yet they can not speak
One day you will die and get buried like a man
Yet you lived like a beast
They will baptize you with false obituaries
As you lie in that wooden prism
You will have imprisoned the wisdom gained from the mist of evaporated tears
Wake up and see that you are a young flesh crucified and nailed to a skeleton of this generation
A generation that believes not in tribalism or dirty politics
A generation that speaks
our voice is the wind that weep with us
So speak and tell them that
If God really wanted us to fight we would have been born with machetes for hands
And our feet would shovel the ashes of our sisters who were murdered by men who carry flaming horns in their pants
Speak and tell them that
It's a shame how two job seekers can make a boardroom of 10 million bosses fight in silence as the two cheer on
Speak and tell them that
We can not cross this Ocean on a paper boat in flames
Let's borrow Noah's ark and rescue ourselves from the flood of these political spit
We can never take the world by storm if we are afraid to reign