The King's Escape

To my future son:

First, I will teach you how to swim. You will need it. I know that the current of the world may one day be stronger than your mother’s love

                     but that’s the thing about waves, the water has perfected the art of letting go

so I will wait for the tide to return what’s lost, catch him in the net that is my arms and remind him of the

                                              young child he once was before strangers taught him what it meant to be a 

                                              man.

                            And all the while I will hope:

hope that his heart was not lost at sea, drowning me and all who lived there, with it

                           hope that his truths are not blocked by the sand in his mouth, forcing his pain into grit

hope that his spine did not turn to the rocks it pushed up against, robbing him of the ability to lean on another

          I will be your lighthouse, brightest in the darkest moments

First, I will teach you how to swim,

                                        Tread lightly, and when you re-gain the strength

 you confused for weakness,      

Negro. I am 400 years of servitude and suffering. A cry, NO! A mere mockery of Luther King A civilised ‘monkey’, unable to swing, Ignorance to which the caucasian clings. I am that despicably inexplicable sin. To the white man a creature; a vile thing. A SLAVE.  Bound by oppressive locks and mental chains, An altercation; evolution’s dirt smudged stain. Till this day a servant I remain.  Still counting the years of labour unpaid.

I am the mirror of disgust; In me you find he reflection of distrust. Lyrics of hip hop; Shameful text. Look out for the next album from Kanye West. Parks, Mandela and Malcom X I sometimes wonder, what their lives were worth? “Ghana is free forever” the words of Nkrumah, The struggle and assassination of Patrick Lumumba. A stepping stone for Mama Africa. I lie. Rolling stones down the ladder.

Our enemy has long been fear and doubt Aspirations of shining and 'standing out’. Fear not my brothers, For our redemption will come as a revolutionary elevation. A sunny day; the end to black tribulation. Rise and persevere. For the hour beckons, or time is near. The sweat and blood which we hold dear Lead us home, sweet mother Africa. Lead us back to you, mother dear.

                                 - Nene Azu