Colours of Truth

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?