I know somewhere
I know of a place
A place where sunshine is seasonless.
Let's go
let's go to my mother's land.
I know of a man who is always frowning.
He has his teeth
so well sharpened.
Anything he touches, turns bloody.
I know of this place
A paradise so faraway
A paradise beneath the sun
An old soul caged in the hearts of despots
A soul that remains trapped
in a body haunted by memories.
A steaming realm where children cry
The black children.
They have no name
Their stories are yet to be told
Their chapters, unwritten
Their prayers, unheard.
They are knives
They are bombs
They are guns.
If you get to know them
They are meaningless
They are Africa
They are shadows under the sun.
I know of these children
So humble and loving.
They are butterflies.
I know of their stories
They are the souls of humanity.
I know of these people
They are victims of the old dog
who never have learned to sit down.
I know of this place, of these people.
©lamin
L