Home is when your ailing uncle drained out of his blood, stares you in the eye bloodshed worried for you. Your only grief is one that time may heal, yet his life’s purpose is to humbly be about others. Home is the joy, the brotherhood, walking in the streets
Mind is buzzing of thoughts I’ve nurtured through my stay. In all the questions I’ve sought answers to, I’ve discovered many more to be unsure of. In the stare of that man begging, wandering from wagons to streets, seeking coins to satisfy his hunger. The draw of
Strides feel heavy, I fear the very street I live on. I consider myself lucky, the man shot by the cop on tv is of a far lighter shade than I am. Yes, somehow it feels his shade mattered, because that’s the only rationalization I could come up with.
Mama Africa Oh you of rich history, legends and tales, envious to no other, Nations of hospitality, so welcoming, duped into forsaking your own birth rights. Oh you of morals, high and unflinching, beliefs transcending supernatural, Engrained into a way of life, the way of life of the motherland. Oh
Peace I seek, in a past, perhaps long forgone; perhaps not worth hanging onto. Peace I find, in a future, light and relieved from my self inflicted burdens. Peace I dream, may it not be in a world without flaw, may it be in a world’s whose flaws made