Maybe it’s our casual disdain
For the epic battles fought for our pain
The simple places we could not go
Or the fountains from whence water would not flow
Perhaps it’s that we have fought, now so much
For a prize that lost its glow
Perhaps it’s that in this infinite story
Our mangled past
Has become what we now want to be cast
For how do we re-write our history?
Or forget the list of atrocities?
For we feel the pain of lashes?
Encumbered by what we so often remember
Of the voyages that ended off-shore
In the bowels of ships, never told
Is this what has left us encumbered?
To roam the land; as if handicapped and hindered?
Perhaps it’s that while we would suffer
We were left lying asunder
Our wilderness has held like a tether
A constant and non gentle reminder
That God’s love had not escaped our encounter
Perhaps we should now simply acknowledge
That there rises a man full of robust regal splendor
Whose words do not fall like gentle raindrops
But beat like the steady drum of thunder
His eyes the vision of fire, his voice committed desire
To make promises of changes from yonder
Where only pain and suffering once held us in corners
Perhaps it time to accept that forever
Will not be a reflection of never
Perhaps we should weep with excitement
That our children will now know power as an enticement
Perhaps even as we cry with excitement
We should revel in God’s prophetic development
That Barack is his chosen assignment
© Soneka K. Kamuhuza 11-5-08