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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?
Copyright ©
Tonye George
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