ANCIENT WORDS
As the fathers' and the fores sit on benches,
There, they shed tales of their flesh on planks,
Of how their souls lest dents of voids,
And spirit sopping in emanciated fogs.
.
With their nights of nightmares,
They put off completely candles of hope,
Then, they opined "UNDERSTANDING
Is what makes the globe rolls."
.
With their pitied faces,
I saw their auction looks,
Of ages of slavery's coffles,
Of the claws in their hands,
And whips on their flesh.
.
Then i remembered my father's words,
That wrecked my creeds,
He said, "SUBMISSION is
What makes the globe rolls."
.
Now i know why they laughed to shield their tears,
How they maneuver through their dreams,
Why they survived the pains,
Just to create the blues with screams.
.
I know now what it means,
Of living on the precipice of death.
.
Well, they kept my race alive!
.
Thomas Oluwatosin
© Fearless Lines
2021-07-10 11:44:01
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