Freedom

Give us us free!
Whence came the word struggle?
Whence came the word pain?
Whence came the word abuse?
Whence came the word exploitation?

…Freedom…freedom!
What is it, where is it…. how do we find it…how do i find it?
What is it worth…a mans life…two…maybe three..perhaps a million?

Is it an illusion, a carrot dangling on a stick for abused and abusers alike…who is happy then? Is she happy? is he happy? are they happy?…am i happy?

What does it mean to be free?…to feel free….
What do we fight for?…what do we die for?….
Does it make sense…to want to be free i mean.
Does it make sense if the comprehension of that state, that…that freedom elludes us…elludes me…
What then, is living…what then is life without freedom?

Welcome to Afrika…welcome to my world…

(Maliq Walter Muro©)

The Silent Majority in the Shadows

Hear us…listen…listen before its too late!
Listen to me…listen to the story of a mother with no milk left to sustain her baby!
Listen to me…listen to the story of a babe with no strength left to suckle from a barren breast!
Listen to me…listen to a brother, a sister, a son, a daughter, a niece, a nephew…listen to the story of how ‘I’ have become the last one to bear my family name!

Hear us…act…act before its too late!
Drop the guns! It is not the bullets that will help us now!
Less talk, less promises! It is ‘they’ that give ‘you’ the time to ‘delay’…time that sees more silenced…time that sees more six feet under!
Do not tell me to hope! That, I already have! Give me confidence…give me something tangible to hold on to! Anything but this…anything but empty words!

We are the silenced ones…but we are a majority!
We are the silenced ones…but we are the future…your future…our future!
Hear us…listen…listen before it is too late!
Hear us…act…act before its too late…

Straight from the womb…into the fire!

Guns firing…Rat tat tat tat…the music of AK-47’s…familiar now…so familiar it’s a wonder people still remember what the song of a robin sounds like.

Boom, bam, boom…the lords of war are gleeful…boom, bam, boom…a whole 6 months worth of harvest becomes a glaring crater…Rat tat tat tat…the music plays…the never ending melody that is death and war…it calls…it beckons…it welcomes…

Boom, bam, boom…an aspiring mother strains…beads of sweat…salty droplets of it flowing over taught, stressed, coffee colored skin…drip, drop, drip…’push!’…’harder!’, they say…’faster!’…Rat tat tat tat…a scream of agony…pain…all inter-laced into one packet…a fast food pain product with the word ‘labor’ stamped on it…

Visions of white…an old, tired, defeated and dirty type of white…a red cross that is no longer red…a nurse’s face that has long lost…forsaken even…the ability to smile…’it’s a boy’…no excitement in the voice…resigned…a plain matter-of-fact, all business, I-am-telling-you-so type of voice.

‘A curse..I must get away…get HIM away from here!’…the fear, the very real fear a mother feels for a child…a male child…again and again, her mind screams…the words…the mantra…the devil that is a recruiter of child soldiers…baby soldiers…a minion of the lords of war…the gleeful, happy, delighted and most welcoming lords of war…’straight from the womb, into the fire, straight from the womb, into the fire…’

Rat tat tat tat…louder now…boom, bam, boom…more destructive than ever…its been 8 years now…a mother long forgotten, a father never seen…concepts of family never taught, never were, never are…and never will be…

Rat tat tat tat…an AK 47  sings in an 8 year old’s hands…Rat tat tat tat…soul mates for life now…Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat…’straight from the womb, into the fire’…Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat click-click…a fight to be fought to the end…until the bullets run out…until the baby fingers have no strength left to pull the adult trigger…until the RIGHT people, at a time that has, is and will NEVER be right, start to ask the RIGHT questions…take the RIGHT actions…Rat tat tat tat…the song of death continues…Rat tat tat tat!

(Maliq Walter Muro ©)

The Vision Through My Two Windows To The Outside World

What do I see through my two windows to the outside world?
I see the creation of a stagnating policy,
The formation of a superficial democracy,
The breeding of a new faced anarchy,
The suffering of my people through absolute autocracy,
The eight year old adults of tomorrow bathed in complacency,
A steady deterioration of honesty.

What do I see through my two windows to the outside world?
I see the reality of our dying world as a harsh fact,
The failures of our leaders to stand up and act,
The self induced fear forcing us not to react,
The sealing of selfish agreements in the guise of a peaceful pact,
The dwindling doorways to the divine realm which no longer have the power to attract,
An attempt to bring back the child of peace that I fail to resurrect.

What do I see through my two windows to the outside world?
I see our world, surrounded with the utmost of evil in its epitome, heading in a state of utter delusion, towards the impending realm of chaos it once arose from.

(Maliq Walter Muro©)

Mother Africa

Mother! I am your child. Mother Africa! I am your creation, and yes I am that baby that grieves and cries with you time and time again.

Mother! Mother Africa. Who can claim to have seen more sorrow, disappointment and pain than that which you have endured?

Who, yes I dare ask again, who can claim to have seen their own flesh and blood sell themselves knowingly into slavery. And no I do not speak of the unchangeable past, the irreversible Trans Atlantic, Arabian and European exploitations of our people. I speak of now, the painful reality that we, your children face in a world, and yes indeed in a land that we no longer have any claim over.

Mother! I speak of us, the black Zombies that live off you but give nothing back. I speak of our self-induced failures, our continued disasters.

They say a poor man can still be a clean man. Then why mother, why do I see all manner of garbage lying on the land that once had so much pride?

They say a beggar is only a beggar as far as he allows himself to become. Then why mother, why do I see your children sinking deeper and deeper into debt when the wealth of our debtors comes from our own territories?

They say birds of a feather flock together. Then why mother, why are we the only people who strive to belittle our own blood so much?

They say that it takes one to be proud of himself for the world to be proud of them. Then why mother, why do so many of your children worship any and everyone else except themselves?

They say it is not what you are called by, but what you answer to that matters. Then why mother, why are we the ones to answer to Nigger, Negro…and yes it is our own people who call us that…

Where is our pride, our culture, our tradition? Where is that dream, that dream that is so essential for the survival of your children?

Mother! I am your child. Mother Africa! And yes I will continue shedding tears…tears for your children who remain a part of the lost ones.

Mother…Africa…Mother

(Maliq Walter Muro©)

It’s all about us!

Africa…we complain about subjugation, racism, abuse, exploitation, hunger, disease, illness, imperialism…the list is endless.
Africa…we complain about everything, point fingers at others and blame them for our shortcomings.
But Africa, is it not our so called leaders who abuse us, use us and exploit us?
Is it not us who raise arms against each other, kill our fellow men and lay death to our own kin?
Is it not us who admire the skin of the white man, kiss his feet and attempt to be like him?
You see Africa, we cannot complain and point fingers anymore.
We may look and look for scapegoats but no matter how hard we search, we will find ourselves to be the biggest culprits.
Africa………it’s all about us.

(Maliq Walter Muro©)