How did we get here? That the cries of the innocent no longer irks our soul? Tell me how the blood stains on our land, flowing freely, is no longer seen as a proof of carnage? While those alive mourn those dead in fear, the killers jubilate so loudly, we can hear them sing from afar. Their rythmic dance steps insult the memories of their victims for free. Oh my land, my home! Can I still call you so? All I see now when I remember home is a slaug hter field, where my ancestry is being eroded, violated, destroyed by people I once called brothers and fellow men. How different are they from me? I see none, our skin tone shows we are supposed to be united as a common front against those who come from beyond the big wide sea to tap and mine the blessings of the creator hidden deep underneath our huts, just for you and I but alas today, they sit back and watch, without having to lift a finger, we turn and strike deep into the heart and bellies of ourselves Wives left with no husband's,
Bridging the gap between my thoughts and ink