I woke up without my soul today. Last night before I slept I left it dillydallying
around the concepts of love, life and other prospects I've wrecked my mind in search of it, checked
everywhere in my heart down to the insides of my pockets Strange, but I was thinking maybe it got
caught looking for some change. I've widened my search range to the street,
begging complete strangers indiscreetly what I could give in exchange for
theirs. My soul-seeking desperation reeking of fears
peaking into tears leaking down my face and smears what composure I've held
through the years. Who has it, what ditch does it lie in? Where could it have gone, could I have kept
it from fleeing? My questions echo through the hollow residue
of my being Maybe I should pray so I’m down to the floor
kneeling, praying wordlessly to a God I claim to believe in .Maybe I should sleep now and see if it
returns in the morning. But what if my soul doesn't miss me? What if it’s running wild through the fields
like an untamed child screaming “I AM FREE, I AM FREE” “Free of this tiring lunatic chasing after
things she can’t have and still can’t figure out where she belongs Free of embarking her childish fantasies that
gets so damn frustrating as the journey prolongs Free of excusing the misuse of her life, at
this age she still can’t confidently walk in her own shoes They’re always too tight or too loose Sometimes I even give her the option of going
barefoot but she still won’t choose.” I imagine my soul lying in a hammock on a
beach in Maui Sunglasses on, sipping on margaritas glad to
be rid of me. I let my body sleep but my soul I never let
rest So today, my bones and flesh must do all the
work and endure the stress Today I woke up soulless.
Let me
remind you first that war is no joking matter
War is
thinking of home with such piercing pain that the nothingness of a stranger’s
place found in the strangest of places appeals to the numbing emptiness that
provides the only room for rest
It is the
stories of seen but unspoken evil refugees and the stranded many carry heavy on
their chests praying to whatever they can bring themselves to believe in that
it should never again manifest
War is what
breaks a man’s soul when he does the most questionable just to exorcise what
little control he has over a situation that draws his family to its knees
It’s a woman
whose dignity is stolen from her even in the discomfort of her abode so her
entire family sees
How does she
heal herself in time to teach her little girl who suffered the same episode
before she begins to see herself as nothing more than just a wet hole?
War takes the
penis of a barely teenage boy out of his hands and puts a gun in its stead so
in his head a finger on a trigger is how to masturbate
War is these
ugly truths told to you straight without much room to exaggerate.
It is no
specific target of gun shots and indiscreet slaughtering in the streets.
In Sierra
Leone, they ignored pleas and grieves before they cleaved arms like branches
off trees and blood dripped down helplessly like leaves
The
dismemberment of another flesh and blood was reduced to the levity of long or
short sleeves
Rwanda saw
800,000 killed within a span of one hundred days, that’s eight thousand humans
a day, three hundred and thirty-three an hour
Six lives
devoured a minute worsens the taste of what’s already sour all in the name of so-called
power
The falling rain
itself came to be a reminder to the people of Liberia that they were under attack
In 1990 the heaven’s
cries met gun powder in the skies so when it poured down, the water was black
There are
media footages from DR Congo, Somalia, Burkina Faso, all publicly accessible but
remember not all the details were archived
Many of us
will go deprived of the sordid reality lived by many of those who survived.
All die be
die be lie to the living
When you’re given
the displeasure of seeing the spirit of your loved one escape him and the
emotion your feel first is hatred before you even get the chance to mourn
And know now
that war knows no age so even babies fall victim before they’re born
War is
missing brothers, fathers, sisters, mothers and lovers better off assumed dead
because your soul is just too weary for hope to beget
War is me at
twenty-five, seventeen years after my family got out alive convincing myself
the object that flew unrecognized by my eye wasn’t a bullet
The one I
believe I had seen, eight years old locked in my neighbor’s tight room with
steel doors because that was our definition of a safe haven
Rebels a few
years older than me trapping two dozen of us due to our fear of what they could
do with an AK47
That kind of
fear grows with a child’s imagination so there’s no more telling what’s real
and unreal regardless of what truth is revealed
My truth is
what eyesore my mind told me my eyes saw
War is me
still too scared or angry at the nightmare to ask what we were fighting for.
Wars are the
singular cause of the mental deconstruction of a people with no therapy to
their tragedy
They are a
sadist’s feast of rape, murder, cannibalism, abuse and everything tragic
The human
comparison to the ugliness of the foretold black magic
War brings
out the evil side of evil and is its own justification of immorality
War is the
unnatural decomposition of humanity
The sensitivity
of this issue is paralyzing without a doubt
So please
don’t make light of this because war my dear people, is nothing to joke about.
We are greater than it’s been said
Our blood flows thicker than that which our forefathers bled on battles they led
That which they shed upon our heads in anointing
We are discerning people who yearn and labor to in turn be more fulfilling than that on which we fed.
We are artists, decision makers and steadfast entrepreneurs
Enriching our earth with blood, sweat and tears to last past the years
Into decades, centuries and millenniums
We are the new age of freedom
From us comes a new age to stage change.
We do no lay on our backs side-tracked by monetary gain
Or tread on old paths picking up old crumbs that remain
We are the innovators, the no-Sayers to preachings the vain proclaim
We reject imitations and limitations set a stepping stone to esteemed heights
We are not fixated on stardom although our succession shines bright.
We are truth seekers, articulate speakers voicing the noise of the silent; the vibrant strength of the weaker
We are our brother’s keepers
Sisters who don’t chase misters just for a taste of a little glitter
We protect and respect our own for we are them
We are men, women and children joined at the stem
We are fine-cut stones
We are gems.
Diamonds in the African rough
Sought after and made to believe we don’t blend in with the dirt and the scuff
They intend to take us to a foreign land to be refined, that is, pretend to be one of them
But we remain grounded with the rest of the pure stuff
To hell with their graces,
The pride we bear is enough.
We are illumination to a bleak vision
The reconstruction of a forgotten mission
The proclamation that a nation broken within itself must be its own salvation
We are the revolution.
Stand Up !
Look past the comments and likes and tell me what you really like about the words that I write. Are they like your dark thoughts brought to light or slight light sparks seen at night? Does it bring sight to the blind or life to your mind or the kind of truth only words can find? Do my rhymes bind the broken times like a straight edge on dotted lines? Like lyrics fitted perfectly where melody chimes? Do I get through to you? Are my words a righteous life force that tells a story and inspire you to write yours in spite flaws Does it clear up your vision when your sight’s sore? Or hand you goals against the odds just to even the score? What do my words stand for? Do they take you back to what was to relive on past glory Or from history birth out a new story His story, her story, my story, your story Stories of the good, bad and the gory. Do I make you sappy, happy or sorry. Cripple you like a broken lorry
Or itch your feet to move to the groove you’ve refused to dance to because of those who’d disapprove.
What do I sound like to you? Am I shy like a girl to her high school sweetheart? Daring and defiant like ghetto street art? Or do I creep up on you like Biggie used to do right after the beat starts. How dare I use I and Biggie in the same line though Pardon me, maybe I juggle a couple of words just so I seem smart.
My mind’s berated with questions making incisions in my brain My curiosity won’t refrain me from asking. Do you think I show you the real me or am I masking? Do I talk like I walk or am I just multi tasking? Who am I to you?
