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
but i am still love the westerners just like said my grandfather: white man got no dream
© Copyright 2016 alhain. All rights reserved.
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