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Poetry By: alhain


Submitted:May 6, 2009    Reads: 81    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   

rituals was our way of reminding our children of our oneness

it was a way of celebrating the way of life we had chosen for oursleves

when a child grew enough to find a land and make a clan he would sing in the night

he would chant, dance, sweat until those who are impressed followed him

this was our way

in that boat to nowhere

i hear my grandfather saying: evil man has no dream

it was true

the white man who took us away had no dream

taken away from our mother africa

we had no idea

no idea of what was awaiting us

more than a stage it was a drama

as i pack up my bag to return to the mother of mine

i kiss my child who is the best of both worlds and tell her: daddy is going to find his mummy

story of slaves

story of a forgoten tails

the mighty heroes

children of the thunder

build to last and made to carry on

these were the last letter left of a bible written trouhg tears and remembrence

african story

untold agony

deprived liberty

but i am still love the westerners just like said my grandfather: white man got no dream


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