Oh! you've forgotten this familiar voice so soon? I am the laborer you employed on your snow field When your frozen farm could not stand I was he, who brought you loam from my mother's graveyard The lurking waves are near I am come knocking the moonlight door It is me, the Afrikana Will you open Sir? Or just look me at the window and chide me once more.
Oh! landlord, you've forgotten this dark child so soon? I am the tenant you welcomed into your garage As your kitten took my place in the guest room I have come with a basket of thorns woven by my people For a share of what solely belongs to my ancestors I am come knocking the moonlight door It is me, the Afrikana Will you open Sir? Or just look me at the window And hide me in your balcony.
It is me, the Afrikana I am come on mother's last errand With a golden necklace handsomely beaten from her shackles I am come with your cross Sir Knocking, knocking It is me, the Afrikana Will you open the moonlight door?
~ Windsong breeze Playing to the tune of migration Flight of the Arctic tern Pushing the boundaries For greater hemispheres Internal clocks sound a message though It is indeed time to go To wing forth in formation As they were designed to do Their wanderlust tempered By an annual returning ~
Saw the bean pole and its roots arguing outdoor with two oppressors bean pole treated unfavourably its on foreign soil doused in free milk but reminded its just another border crosser from a rubber dinghy from Calias
Saw the bean pole housed in nursery and greenhouse to propagate now rooted anew its given nutrients but it must do as ordered for no matter what its just another border crosser from a rubber dinghy from Calias
Saw bean pole growing tendrils leaves unfold green to catch sunshine but now a puppet amongst others who bend and shape at will bean pole see that plant next to you its taking your nutrients away go block its sun do as we say or else just remember you're just another crosser from a rubber dinghy from Calias
Bean pole will grow and bear fruits on foreign soil there's milk and honey but for as long as the sun shines the chains and barbs will hold bean pole is just a stick carrying tendrils to grow the beans eaten by those of the land who to them will always be just another border crosser from a rubber dinghy from Calias
Geese scrambling on the roof scratching uncertainly. Seeking balance. Steady purchase on a ceiling peak: perched. Finding home, flocks frayed by the Four winds and Fate. Honking hellos and goodbyes. HONK HONK