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In its darkest dark, Light pitched its Bright,
When the light hit the tide.
I saw the flight, the sky, and grass—
With whom to guide.
To glow in the light, the dark came for a fight,
No gloves, just pride.
To whom Medals may have adorned,
Came the wealthy knight.
His sight sang to the night,
For THEY wore a war on might and light.
WHO WORE! Worn! I say,
For the price was branded in rage—
A date born with dearth.
For Mother Earth gave its wealth.
That Medal, stained in mud,
Textured in the depth of soil.
Such a race, the light wouldn't change its place.
Each rise to tame each face.
For the same space was set and blazed,
By the one who came to light in fright.

The lies of life to steal and hide.
In white, the Sun's plans were foiled.
The pitch was forked with torching and songs.
White, but dark in spite and taste.
A grave they gave, the earth of its birthplace.
With such hate, mud feared the tides.
Lost its gaze, for days to mate.
A male in pain, for the mud lost its name.
WHITE as it came, slayed, maimed in faith.
Hate was born in a space of rage.
Lost in faith, songs of fate.
As white as it came, it stayed in wait,
Lasting for days with age.
To nations, the light bore,
The sun would fear to indulge its friend.
In white he came, but stayed again.


By P.Fualem

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