SONG OF FREEDOM

In a puddle,
My reflection sang to me
Before my footsteps echoed in my dream.
The world paused with a sigh,
Someone splashed water on my face
And washed sight from my eyes.
Baptise me with fire and blood!
Not with spit and stagnant water!
Hang my skin from a flagpole
And tell the world that I deserved it.
I deserved to die, to burn,
To be blown to bits, to crumble
Like the old walls of forgotten kingdoms.
My tears ripple in the puddle
And my face wobbles with my thoughts.
My tears weep with the rain
And the puddle grows bigger
With each sorrow that drops
From my lips to germinate the earth with
Forbidden fruits, broken bodies
Building hope out of nothing.
Shoot us silent, stab our voices
With the knife edge of naira notes,
Tear open our throats so that
The caged birds within will roam free
And sing our own song of freedom
In a place we cannot call home.
They have consumed their memory
Like bottles of chilled beer
And now the dregs feel like truth.
I have fallen from grace,
Child of dead gods, yet
I do not even get the grass
To cushion my fall just sharp stones
And the curses of sharp tongues
Who fear nothing but hunger and thirst.
The puddle wobbles and the truth fades,
My reflection stutters and the world
Resumes again with a sigh.

©warpedpoetic, 2019.