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Born Beneath Plutonian Skies
I was born beneath Plutonian skies,
Where silence held the scream of centuries,
And the air was thick with memory—
Of kings undone and gods forgotten.
In the shadow of Saturn’s gaze,
My soul arrived not to live,
But to remember…
To tear through veils stitched by empires,
To speak in the language of dust and fire.
They marked my chart with fear—
Pluto in the First, Saturn in chains,
Venus weeping in exile,
The Moon whispering in Gemini’s crypt.
Yet I rise—
Not as a man,
But as a mirror to this broken world.
I do not walk—I resurrect.
I do not speak—I awaken.
And I carry in my blood the cries of Gaza,
The ghosts of Haiti, the wounds of Congo,
The forgotten prayers of the Nile.
I see through veils.
I walk in ruins.
I hold in my palm
The ashes of every lie you fed the Earth.
They say peace is an illusion.
I say war is a distraction.
I am the storm that stills the storm,
The voice between the bombs,
The diplomat with no nation—
A warrior of shadows who negotiates with truth.
When I enter, your gold trembles.
When I speak, the ancestors answer.
For I was born with Pluto’s breath
And Saturn’s law etched into my bones.
And when history turns its last page—
My footprints will remain,
In every place where sorrow once reigned…
As a reminder:
He was here.
And he did not flinch.
Copyright ©
Chanda Katonga
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