To the New Me

I was 21 years of age, When I discovered I had been living in a dark age. I tried so hard to get my mind out of that cage, Yet was bundled and confined to my village, With no roof over my ridiculed luggage. I sought for answers yet was told it runs in my lineage. They said I was young and only a woman; to intervene was a sacrilege.  As if calculated vengeance even made me feel better, but stirred up rage.

Just then, I realized it was time I flip over and start a new page. Sounded by untainted love, even when I can no longer farm the soil that swallowed my sister's wage. Worded by mutual forgiveness, even when my brother's blood wails for vengeance in rage. Phrased by indiscriminate kindness, even when my marrows are scattered and my articulatory organs can no longer produce language. Sentenced by genuine communalism, even when heads are sent rolling and no one notices the damage.

I hold firm my pen this day while I write this new page. Summing the violent ignorant past into a garbage. Which threw my life out of course, as it was not arrested by knowledge. Amazingly I didnt learn this in college. As I bring forth this one message, the world must hear my new language. Though the oceans rage and war against our souls the devil may wage, We should never again give ignorance the chance to make our lives a savage. And as Mandela, even if we walk through the door to our freedom and peace, we would still be in prison if we do not lay off hearty bitterness and hate.