THE ROAD

There is a lovely road

That runs through the canals of our veins

That connects our destines and inheritances

That defines our place and carve us  a spot.

This road we trod

With naked feet

Turned to the scorn

Of our bequeathed fate.

On this road, our walk has been laboured

With the drowning songs

Of broken promises

Our elders sing at intersections.

Our feet are etched

With painful memories

Of loss, decay and death.

The blocks splayed on our path that stumbles us.

We walk up to a new scorn gore

Reminder of the last failed promise—

Sonorously rendered earlier,

From the lips of our elated elder.