Silence falls for more than a moment
For the original butterfly,
Pimped to the benefit
Of your thieving hands.
You opened her.
Deep you reached into our mother
When you cut her
And you stole and sold
Her sons and daughters.
Unwanted intimation
With a nation exalted,
Rich in resources
And royalty.
God's lover.
The martyr.
Prolific producer of
Queens and Kings.
Ravished for her lavish assets.
She no longer cries
When you take one of our lives.
But her numbness succumbs to the flood
Each time we spill our own precious blood.
The same way a diamond only bleeds
To another diamond's rage,
Our mother's spirit withers
With lack of unity in this cage already imposed on us.
This system enclosing us:
Predisposed to be dozed by your blows
Simply by the pigment of our skin and the clothes on us.
But her voice is still
Resonating in the inspiration from vibrations
Echoing in our ears that remind us:
We are still here.
We are still alive.
Not all of us have forgotten
Despite your finest efforts.
EntertainmentMay 09, 2018
The Original Butterfly: A Poem For Africa
We are still here. We are still alive.
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sunrise
StableDiffusion
bonfire friends
StableDiffusion
sadness
StableDiffusion
purple skies
StableDiffusion
true love
StableDiffusion
My Cheerleader
StableDiffusion
womans transformation to happiness and love
StableDiffusion
future life together of adventures
StableDiffusion
