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Poem

The streams of chameleon 
cultures are wrapped in an 
unending charade of peace,
love and warmth. How I wish 
we were truly free indeed, not just 
from the invaders. Free from ourselves, 
our bonds, our lies and truth. 

       Even we, do not fully embrace our 
       strength. In ignorance we let our armour 
       and sword of unity divide us like the 
      devil's kettle. Our music brings light, 
      yet we agree to confine in darkness. 
      Our laughter serenades the universe in 
      green cords tied to the sky still, we bask 
      in the solitude of sadness drawn from 
      petals of mud and rotten clay. 

How do I sing this tale in voicelessness? 
How do I serve these crystal dishes in volcanic flames?
How do I tell my mother down the earth 
that her saplings no longer hear her words? 
They race to chaos like their umbilicals are buried in its dissolution.

Where's the yearning for nature?
Where's the kiss for art?
The displays for rhythm are now left 
in pieces of tunes shredded by the 
anger of the sun. 
Imaginations have sailed mercury.
Common sense painted in drowned ombre.

How do I tell my children that empathy got buried in the lost city of Kalahari?
That karma had a glitch and mercy 
hears no plea.
How do I tell them that sacrifice is not a term used in the world we've created?
That compromise forgot its last name 
in the Atlantic Ocean.
What piece of air is left for their children 
to come?

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