God made men, men made slaves
Projected misery and become a prey
a prey to trail and sheep to be slain
Fate stares and faith is bound in chains
Predators as the molten wilderness of sin
And the prey, the mocking whispering of the wind
To be stripped of spirit and soul and faith
By reason of a distinct race
Stricken from all pylons and obelisk
From the memory of time his name is erased
Stricken from all monument and bound and enslaved
It's real and live, surely it is no myth
No phantom can quake the distress of nights and days
Not through the burning crucible of deserts and pains
Phantom as rights are slayed and in the grave
Beaten into the dust from whence it came
He awaits a day of freedom and the wind of change
His soul in turmoil from the hot wind and wavering sand of race
Learning that it is more terrible to live than die
One shawl, one life, his fate for life
His tortured mind wonders, should he call the memory of past a path
Nor the scorching fury of the sun a part to count
Each night brings the black embrace of loneliness
But the wine of desires run and is braced in his veins
After all dying is only a part of living
All about is desolation, desolation upon desolation
Into the blistering wilderness of slavery and frustration...
© KINGSLEY EZE
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