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A Scroll Of Unseen Waters
The Scroll Of Unseen Waters
Come, you who carry fire in your bones and salt in your tears…?
Children of the drum, the dusk, the dust, and the dawn…?
From mountain root to river vein… the land remembers one song…
But the cup that overflows can never be filled…?
And the tongue that speaks before listening forgets the sound of truth…
Let the proud continue to pour out their wine of assumption…?
And allow the broken to present their fragments like stars across woven sky…
South… West… North… East… these aren’t directions… but reflections…?
None are walls… but mirrors… neither rivals… but rhythms…
For the river never judges the well…? And the tree doesn’t seek the seed’s credentials…
The scroll is not written in ink alone… but in silence… in breath…?
In the courage to unlearn what was mistaken for knowledge…
And those who come empty… come open…?
And those who come open… are awakened…
With the last mask being set down… and the first real name is spoken…?
Then and only then shall the drum sound…
not calling tribes…
but calling memory…
And the people will not gather to fight…
or to follow…?
But to remember what they were…
before forgetting what was taught…
We are not becoming one…?
We were always one…
only scattered in stories…
and hidden in myth…
By: Emmanuel Nyeko
Copyright ©
Emmanuel Nyeko
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