I wrote these wounds for our ancestors who consumed pain
For those whose tears turned to rain
Watering the crops of anarchy
Planted by colonizers who dared to reign
Viral and toxic, the wounds were receipts of hate
Merged with blockchain technology
Coded on our skins with whips and rape
Dictating a sorrow galvanized, on our DNA
But we didn’t have microscopes, so we couldn’t say
How deep the sorrow rang in this life of clay
Sculpting a drama, too dark to play
Growing on plantations, crops of rage
The sea carried off our siblings
Yet she also carried salt
Rusting shackles and blood ties
Turning our relationships to faults
So, when I blink, nightmares tease
When I sleep, dreams cease
Africa’s unity shares a sneeze
Pollinating our siblings who dared to breathe
I wrote these wounds
To speak of these bitter seeds
Blossoming flowers of ignorance
Petals of envy and greed
Though times have passed
Some of our siblings still bath
In shame and loneliness
The corroded shackles, still laughs
Our siblings are now our enemies
Hatred still lasts
We the victims misdirect it
At each other through drugs
Intoxicating our thoughts
Like fake news with bots
Confusing our heritage
By the canes we snort
The slave master is the pharmacist
His medicine, is not love
Anarchy is what he peddles
His sleight of hand, doves
Distracted by their flutter
Peace is all we see
Yet we are left with sibling rivalry
African unity, weight to sea
