Featured: Where We Came From

Featured: Where We Came From - by Micheal Ace

WHERE WE CAME FROM

I wrote a song the day father left

I wept and sang it into a farewell

He may find the way home tomorrow

But this song shall soon taste freedom

I came from where mothers' break

Leaving their pieces in their daughters

Sometimes

The best way to win a war

Is to never start one

We came from where heroes' tears

Flow into the bloodstream of dreams

Beating our bones to glyphs of hope

We came from where we say wishes

With our eyes somewhere on our lips

Watching us off the feats of echoes

We came from where the black's fate

Were perfect home for metal shackles

We came from where we watch lights

And call them remain of broken stars

We came from where we burn in fury

But hid the flames in our fake smiles

Sometimes

No other force will kill a warrior

But the doubts in his own mind

We are the descendants of cowards

Who left their heroes on lips and scripts

But continued by the rules of slavery

We think we have found our freedom

Because we do not see the boundages

But I still hear them in our anthems

If we are too scared of a day-break

Then we may never see another night

Comments

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies" "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat" After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?" "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

Letter To My Son

Dear Son Try to forget that nothing waits in the dark, raise your shoulder high wave off the frea and step into that lane. Won't you rather be gone in there than stay out here playing the coward? Get up now, son everyone falls. #Pengician #SSA http://bit.ly/2haEhoj

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog