Two days ago I cried for young girl who had spread her wings as she did the fire dance
For very soon she would wish she could suffocate her flames
because too many men want to stick their hands into her stove
Even before she can learn to harness the power of her flames
Yesterday, I wailed for a young boy who did not know the power of his tongue and hands
He did not believe he had to speak life to his dreams as he builds them with his hands
Rather he grasps at the straws of other people’s dreams
Because he does not recognize the keys to unlock his dreams in his hands
This morning, I saw the pride of a man dragged through the market
With his fellow men lined up at both ends of the street
poking sticks at his dying dignity with charred compassion
which was poured into a gutter so it be washed away with the debris
This afternoon, I saw a mother’s compassion turn cold and ugly
She said the child was not her’s so she could not be his fairy godmother
Not even for a second so humanity could have hope
After all everyone for himself, God for us all
This Evening, I sit and mourn for my generation
Our present stares down on us as though we have a bad youthful marriage
Sons and daughters of warrior kings and queens who mark time rather than move forward
So let me pour out a tot of my soul to you so you gulp it down
Let the syncopation of memories’ heart beat draw you closer to the truth
Let the smell of burnt memories remind us of who we were and are supposed to be
For we are a generation of greatness now struck down by the disease of self-centeredness
What happened to our communal spirit that made us sit very close enough that we touched each others’ needs?
What happened to tearing a soft part of yourself and handing it over to others
Watch as they mold it and hand it over to you better than they found it?
What happened to the good life being the smiles we placed on each others’ faces
And the joy we etched deep in souls?
So let me pour you a tot of my soul to gulp down
Let me make it two and maybe, just maybe you’ll get drank enough
for this poem to resound in the ears of your heart
©Selikem Tenu. K Geni
