I wrote this piece eons ago, after years of writing about a situation in a certain African nation that seemed unresolvable. I was looking for some way out. I suppose this piece came out of that dimming hope. It’s a two-handed dialogue between two POVs, one as seen from my present state of misery, while the other come from a perceived future. Now that nation I spoke of seems to be making inroads to a better form of governance. It remains to be seen whether that comes to pass. That need for hope is still an ongoing thing, unfortunately closer to home these days, so I’m re-presenting it here.
A Song of Hope
What kind of world are we leaving our children
who can they believe after all the lies
why must the mistakes of the past
be visited on the generation to come?
My generation thought we could do anything
my people touched the Moon
our songs moved a young nation
The path was ahead, not behind
But that’s where this generation is hiding away
All the wonders we have seen
are forgotten by narrow minds and narrow hearts
all the questions our children will face
are coming to haunt our fading days
Tell me, why haven’t we learned?
Oh my love, your glass is so half-full
your eyes see only half the picture
This much is true
there can be no rest so long
as men rule the world
But the winds change with the seasons
The minds of men open and shut as easily
The doors you now see closing
one day will open again
You can’t put aside what Ngai has decreed
not before ten billion more seasons pass away
so how can you say that the end is so near?
Please tell me, why can’t we learn?
When did we become slave to the black goo
dribbling ‘neath holy ground?
Haven’t you called it ‘The Devil’s Excrement’?
How can so much money flow into so few hands?
Why are so many promises left unfulfilled?
Tell me why another generation can only hope
Oh love these things are not new
Freedom ebbs and freedom flows
even in the shining lands
Everything you fear to lose
will come back to your hands another time
Even the darkest night must have a dawn
Even the Earth you walk one day will cease to be
But that day is so very far away
Take my hand and believe what I say
This day, today, the end is not near
From the future to the past
With love from the Emancipation Posse
Papablues Scrapbook 