An ode to Dunbar,
I binge on his broken wholesome pieces,
how strange the words of a man of long ago and a life so different from my own can strike a chord so true to my aching heart.

Hold on a little longer,
keep on getting stronger,
Foolish things to confound the wise,
nearly met his demise,
but to his surprise,
He told him to arise and go to Niniveh.

Not a betting man but double-check the trifecta,
flipping the script of the natural selector,
dark horses coming through,
tried and tasted what is true,
mongrels mounting up from misery,
as all scream and shout,
who let the dogs out!

Once commissioned as causes of concern,
had a lot to unlearn,
underwritten as risky investments,
downtrodden and dejected,
the last to be selected,
with all eyes on the high and mighty,
they sought to divide the word rightly,
each day the weak ones learned from their losses,
joyfully carrying their crosses,
now they stride strong in synergy,
saved from the scrutiny success solicits,
they kept being pimped from their torn down state in preparation for exhibits.

It's a marathon building shelter for my family of vagabonds and pariahs,
He brought us from a low place so we lift Him on higher,
adopted into community with my gang of refugees,
the prince of peace is our metanoic pallisade,
we don't need an accolade.

I'm a werewolf from the wilderness of woodlands trying to feast on a ****** lamb hoping I can be freed from the curse and be made new.

A walking contradiction,
trying to earn distinctions,
attempting to distinguish,
between the matter of the fact and the substance of the fiction.

Stones from my glass house,
an heir intertwined in the vine,
Jack on a beanstalk trying to make of this life the most,
gotta eat the bread of his flesh,
drink the wine of his blood and make a toast to the only one in whom we can boast.

Coasting between Kendrick and Kanye,
Exhausted by dichotomous extremities,
I'm simply seeking serenity,
He says He sings over us, serenades,
grilling in the fire, salt of the earth I guess we're marinade,
know my target audience so I let these rhymes perform their aim,
whatever that may be,
blind Pharisee trying to see how far I can,
hollow man looking through the the lens of of The hallow man.

I don't seek no sympathy I'm just making symphonies,
quite aware of my apathy,
groaning in my atrophy,
body of death is taunting me,
still I cry out victory,
sprinting for a real trophy,
already in pole position,
impossible it seems as Tom's cruising on this mission,
looking to express the beauty of good religion,
wrestling like a Russian named Ruslan from the west to manifest the Kings dream,
show that he's forever blessed,
while trying to entertain,
got no time to stress,
set up for success,
grinding everyday to enter in to his rest.

His rest is history,
what Jesus did for you what He did for me, concurrently, paradoxically He's presently still working through beings like me and you to make things new.
 
We need His assistance but we act in resistance as we focus on the current waves,
we lose our power,
we must depend on Him in every hour,
our lives are but a flower and a mist,
a brief moment we're son-kissed
dark clouds hover with painful rain,
imminent is His reign,
we will rejoice again.

I played with the pied piper or Prometheus,
I guess I'm just tired of all the things that are misleading us.
 
If you didn't get any of these lines let me try to make this worth your time:
The son of man,
the great I am,
the lion of Judah,
the Holy lamb,
took this son of OB1 and Pam,
showed me light in my darkest night,
though we stray and wander,
he's a good shepherd who calls us home.

If you too feel broken and alone,
there's always a seat at the feet of the faithful friend,
it doesn't have to be Christmas or Easter,
we feast daily on tears, joy and all the beauty and grief between,
washed by the water of His words He's made and is making us clean.

First is how it ends don't worry about the queue,
Foolish things to confound the wise,
nearly met his demise,
but to his surprise,
He told him to arise and go to Nineveh.

I smile randomly as she comes to mind,
She can do no wrong and I can do no right.

Providing us food from our conception,
Protecting your chicks like a hen,
Placing a compass when we needed direction,
Powerfully gentle even when we drive you mental.

Adored you are my queen,
Attest I can to the kindness you 'space to let',
Asylum found in your arms with the pain life can cause,
Although you don't seek a round of applause,
Alive still you are we must give you your roses.

Mystery to me the care you have given,
Marvel at times at the trail you have trodden,
Merciful One you blessed us with a pearl,
Mother to us and Obi-Wan's girl.

Esther-esque you watch out for your people,
Ever do you rest you climb so high unequal,
Even when you left to learn and in my ignorant infancy I forgot your name,
Expect you remembered me all the same,
Estimates you have exceeded you're just the one we needed.

Love carries you as you go,
Living in a way you let all know,
Look at the fruits of your labour,
Laughter so loud and contagious,
Lines are lacking because some things words could never express.

Altogether awesome Adonai,
Again you let her see another year,
Aghast we gaze at your glorious grace,
Aquitted we are from the curse,
Appreciative of a mum who lets us know your worth.

Woven in your womb,
Wisdom had us hewed,
While I boast of your beauty,
We all were born broken.

Hence I say you are far from perfect,
However you've always had a precious purity,
Hope this makes you merry,
Have a glass or two of sherry.

Youthful you remain,
Yielding a joy filled jubilee,
Yes fintu mu chalo file moneka kwati fya onaika,
Yet mwali shiba at Yesu a têka!

Much can be said about freedom.
Is it a feeling, a state of mind, is it found in what we possess?

Perhaps you're like the African child who writes this,
often carrying a rootlessness that he can't articulate either in his mother's or his borrowed tongue.

All he knows right now is 'they' came, 'they' saw 'they' conquered.
We bowed, we wept, defeated.
To this day our ebony coating carries a curse.
Often perceived as less than,
with a lucky few who are above the rest.

Perhaps you're well versed in the beautiful tragedy of who we are.
You're acquainted with our jovial spirit,
Our fierce fortitude and our soiled scars.
I appreciate you and I hope you continue to teach others.

Maybe you're a young Paris Hilton who doesn't know there's more to us than south and west,
Be our guest,
but learn our story,
strive to know me and my children for who they really are,
some will try to deceive you like all is well and rosy.
Others will make you weak with worry,
portraying me so pitifully,
wailing my woes while waving my wins.

Anyway, today you celebrate my freedom.
As for me, I grimly grieve.
From my vantage it seems that foreigners feed the feet of the ones most trampled.
Yet your own heads gormandise at their expense.
Many are conforming to the very ways that enchained them.
Sometimes I'm ashamed to call you my children.

Yet I still hope, I always will.
That one day you will begin to shine in this darkness with all of your blackness,
ride with all of your beauty,
tread upon the slick serpents from abroad and from within,
loosen the limbs of the lions and wolves that corrupt credence to your detriment.
Find ways to forgive the injustices all the while resolving them beyond words.

Perhaps it's a dream, but I hope one day all of you my dear children, near and far, one day, may all of you be truly free.

With love,
Mama Africa