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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required When I was six — or maybe six hundred years old — I stood in the veld facing the beast A striped cheetah, eyes locked into mine, gold and hunger and history staring straight through me. could not breathe. I could not move. Fear wrapped around my chest like chains. But I did not hide I could not run we the children Born in Africa,the Mix Blood and called the collards, and many more Clans like our ancestors All over the world born on this soil, some stolen taken as slaves the vibration of their pleas and the sounds of their cries are in our blood fighting for a chance to live The cheetah stepped forward, slow, almost dancing. Like colonizers did. Like fear does. Like poverty does. One step. Then another. Not claws — but circumstance. Not stripes — but systems. Not the wild — but our oppressors I could not run we the children born in Africa,the Mix Blood and called the collards, like many more Clans like our ancestors All over the world born on this soil, some stolen taken as slaves the vibration of their pleas and the sounds of their cries are in our blood fighting for a chance to live As the beast locked eyes , staring at his meal,a anger engulfed me The fear was that of hunger But then I get quiet? Because it's mine. In the quiet A explosion eruption of survival as I launched the arrow in it's heart I could not run we the children born in Africa,the Mix Blood and many more Clans like our ancestors All over the world born on this soil, some stolen taken as slaves ,the vibration of their pleas and the sounds of their cries are in our blood fighting for a chance to live And I realize something: The beast was never my end. It was my mirror. It showed me that fear can stand inches away and still not own you. I am the boy. I am the cheetah. I am the hunted. I am the survivor. We Africans do not run from the lands from East to South from North to West,We are exploited and run for a chance to live , free from oppression.As Africa denies it's own to benefit from it's lands and minds
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