Details |
Little John Kazadi Poem
The Rise Of The Broken
Oh, yes I am a refugee
They say I grew in the sea
But my late grandpa taught me how to swim on dry land and sand
Never let the gratitude of the waters dread your passion
Dive deep into your thought and champion your determination
My late grandpa was shot and stabbed in the back
He barked loud, that memory doesn’t make my dreams shot
My blood is still hot to melt the colder and my heart still pump ideas
My ideas drive me fast like gears
My great grandpa had two wives
War and division
But here I wear peace and solutions
He said Wende Ukaweke Salama
Live in Dzaleka kama kwa mama
This is not a drama, it’s the rise of the broken
Don’t let the chains on your legs limit your movement
You are free just like your uncle Mandela
Never let the fears of being detained in prison kill your dreams and ambitions
Let them build your esteem to flow like a stream of honey
I know you like it
But how do you appreciate the bees bite
How do you feel after failing a life quiz
How do you feel being squeezed like lemon
How does it feel being ignored like a demon
I know it doesn’t sound right but this is quiet right
I know we are kind of free but trapped in a quadrat.
I thought because they said I was I goat I would never grow wings
Just because I was a slave I would never be king
Just because I was servant I would never be queen
That’s not true
You can be anything so long as you work for it. I thought I would be somebody
But now I am myself
Just because you are broken it doesn’t mean your hopes are broken
Your future is bright and not broken
Your power is just within yourself and not taken
So rise, like the rising sun
Peace to the warm heart of Africa “Malawi”
By little John Kazadi
Copyright © Little John Kazadi | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Little John Kazadi Poem
My friends think I'm crazy
My mom knows that sometimes I'm lazy
And I know that I am dizzy, I can't stand the pressure of being expected to be perfect
I am perfectly imperfect
I am burning escaping man made hell
I am a Messiah that no one believes
Not even after making my way through their storms
Not even after building an empire out of their stones
I am a concrete strong enough to stand for myself
My body is a temple
I hear their boots' crunch violently running towards me
I can't stop running , I am running
Running from a world that defines me weak
I am running from my body, I'm running from the curves of my hips
I am running from the valleys on my chest
I wish I could rest, being a woman is not curse
It is a race to Victory
The truth is, I can't deny being me
Dear Mom, culture is a way of life
I'm afraid some practices have kept me silent for a while
You and I are victims of stigma
But mama, help me walk through this desert
Help me recycle the gabage made out of your star
Help me shine my light
Copyright © Little John Kazadi | Year Posted 2021
|