suffering
She was never a wasteland or hills so bare and patched nor valleys so dry and deep…
Evergreen, forested, untouched, virgin and flourishing are words best to describe this arid, drought stricken place…
I see the hills and valley sides, leavened with dung and feces from over bloated cows, fed and satiated with the much she held in time past…
A land dry not for want of water, rain or sunshine but defaced by drought of truth and justice!
Void of character and passion for good, a superimposition of piety; patched by the heat from the conflagration of acts of hate, greed and frowardness…
Where their acts have ruined the art; a bruised culture likened to the discomfort of a moldering waste on a dunghill!
Trapped to the burdening scrip, standing on rejected piles from the town dwellers; scavenging and pilfering through the wastes and rubbish; compelled by a self cast spell of mental slavery to search life out on a pile of feces!
Black skins, literally charred by a blessing-turned-curse of African sunshine and tropic glow…moistened by blood thick perspiration; clogged sweat pores, trickling down skins hardened and scaled like amphibian reptiles…toiling endlessly, daily on this dunghill, one made by we ourselves…
Are we going to scavenge like men on a dunghill or emancipate ourselves from mental slavery?
A land now waste but one to flourish again …we must rise to freedom, make the change, embrace the possibilities of the art of record and history, refine the culture, bend the rules and change the tenets! We must engage violently and vehemently the thrills of violence and corrupt practices, we must clear this dunghill again! We must refuse the wasters, kill the cancerous leaders, we must save the young, wipe away the tears of our black mothers while we stand against the discrimination of women and unjust servitude…
Otherwise, we continue on this dunghill and fade into oblivion through consistent cultural decadence, physical mortality and religious prejudice, eating deep into the walls of unity in diversity, kept at the priceless cost of bloodshed daily
We must therefore save the destitute, care for the aged, nurse the wounded and the sickly…we must give our little bits in our little corners.
We are all we have to redeem our land, from our homes, farms, work places, to the loggers, fellers, fishermen, artisans, physician, advocates, judges, people, leaders, government, preacher men; all on this dunghill!

PICTURE SOURCE: Google images

Advertisements