Before navel birthed my sight on bleeding happenings,
Our fathers’ plight were feathers beneath the sky,
Roaming,whirling,wailing on their breakfasts
after being served with bereaved plates of slavery.
We saw darkness lighted on our fathers’ foreheads
forming archs of aching and dying actions
for on our mothers’ back we also saw unity in futility
crawling into hollows of vacuum ethnically-based reasoning.
Dreaming dreams were also placed under the doomed tree
of lame roots,where visions of men became growing weeds
on the muddy,muzzy soil of realization with damp glee
which only brought drought to the bosom of blossoming beings.
What is left is left bereft on the left side of joy’s waist,
Surrounded by nightmares,making the day pant under justice
as mothers of eight eat hate’s faith to pass late fate
as genes to sons whose ribs struggle to live under strangulating lies.
On the day I was born beside the borderline of burdened border
when the sun of grief passed through the axis of smiling moon,
Burnt skulls of born sons were graced with ashes of murder
gotten when fidelity met inequality at dagger’s drawn.
Smiling under suffering was the common virtue
before freedom for peace became a starving battle
where triggers are fed daily with loaves of fleshy bread
for unity to digest below our battered darted navels
Night after the eclipse came with a minute silence
of faithfuls whose sins were the lies they killed
which flapped daily doom on the hope they nurse
behind the holy shores where truth slayers are spared.
We never knew truth should be swallowed beneath our smiles
To expose only our true glands to spit lies into the sky
Where lies condense pretense beside the essence of the unborn
To rain showers of nemesis on the earth to drain ill judgments
We gathered our whole remains to maintain the holes
dug by barking governance with sucking reliance
That made us bloodless after offering our thumb’s prowess
As libation to gods of gutted goodness in fruitlessness!
This is the hour when the day must return our gone song
sung when the usual is mute without rhythms of hope.
We await beats of booming economy in peaceful harmony
For dreams to resurrect dancing to changing change of stories.
