The roof is leaking with broken dreams

Faith but a battered umbrella with tattered seams

My back aches with the labour

Of bending and scooping pale hope in hope’s pail

In the flood of disappointment my tears set sail

As the voice of defeat wades in the waters beneath

Whispering corrosive discouragements

This prison breaks me and I’m yet to break free


Here I am atop the dunghill of what was to be the foundation of my beautiful journey

I can almost feel the ashes in my mouth

The ashes of treachery

Of those who have promised and failed

And those who have failed without promising

Everybody has felt my pain

Nobody knows my pain


Somebody’s son is slain beneath the sun

His blood quenches the thirst of the desert

But he had nothing to quench his own

Yet he’s here because of the thirst

That plagues all of us

The thirst that makes us believe

That we need more and should have more

So we pursue more

But each turn is a cul-de-sac

Each leap is from a broken springboard


I have heard stories though

They say men fly without wings

They say men speak without tongues

And a black man wears the White House

They say the mighty have fallen

And the foxes have risen

They say I should write my own story


If the blacker the berry the sweeter the juice

Then I guess it’s no news

That light can be born out of darkness

That we are only free when we are prisoners of madness

Let my mad self say to my struggles

“Keep those lemons coming my way”

They are my helping hands

No not ‘Onga’, call them lemonaid


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