The lives they wanted for us
Refused to be birthed.
The dreams they had for us,
Were moulded in red and black clay.
What they wanted for us
Arrived at the tip of the grass blade,
And we learnt to read dew like a prophecy:
There are days that start in the night
And of deaths, there are some that only want flesh:
Like how the country spilled blood, martyred us
Then later, it came finding our graves
Marking us completed, compensated and accounted for.
This haunting, where the living pursue the dead
And when there is a lightning,
Then you will see the precise moment when
They decided the lives they wanted for us
Should be miscarried.
The lives they wanted for us,
Were to be delivered in the decade,
But time loses its relevance,
If it no longer matters how long a funeral lasts,
Because we have to put up the tents for another memorial.
The lives they wanted for us,
Refused to be born into an echo sharpening its teeth;
As if it is going to hunt, not to sing to a child,
Not to teach them to crawl,
Then walk then run in the wind.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Kier E. Scape on Unsplash