I dont care to explain the actions of my people Nor can I defend words spoken during high evil
As time moves different when tear drops mixing with *lo** keeps track
At which point Eye for an eye takes on a new meaning that one cannot give back
Fore sight
See if you can keep up I though all this up While laying in my bed Eyes closed Cause I cant cry the tears that bled During famines droughts and deaths Wondering What I did to provoke the life I led
Cause people back home Envy the life that I live While the ones who live with me Look to me for an answers I cannot give Yet Im no longer ahead of it Cause I stopped racing Once upon a time I would fight a few racists Just to KNOW I was the better than Feared cause simply put I was the unknown man But I knew
Theres more to the horn Than black hawk down Theres more to the horn The warlords and gun sounds Theres more to the horn And I cant explain how
My people are poets We used to tell stories via drums and chants The young men chew khat and speak of romance As the elders grow old and teach the new born the past Our women gave birth And birth gave love Love gave maturity That made young men evolve
You cannot fathom the cycle of life When a fool learns the errors of his ways Steady steps the child takes The more this fool grows with the passing days Only to be called Gramps One day As he tells stories of a fool Who one day grew And the young men laugh As the elder just smiles Thinking I USED TO BE YOU
Many like myself Were born outside all of this But not a moment lost As we listen to parent reminisce
Once upon a time I cared to explain Tell my story till I was drained To kids who knew nothing about pain Only tears they ever cried Was for scraping their knee
Imagine a culture Where every older female Was called aunty In a tongue where the word aunt Meant SMALL MOMMY
Then war breaks out And all the little moms Slowly die out The few you can remember Become fewer by the day No longer crying out
Simply cause the fools forgot He had a role to play Neglected the sons And kept on his foolish ways
Now our women Can only Give birth to pain Praying its a daughter As sons only bare bad news The elders are far apartnot to mention few Acting like they have no hearts Bombing any different view
But during all this *lo** There are tears of joy Imagine red tears dripping Out the eyes of a young boy Knowing his role and path But cant decide Because he has no choice Our wise die young And fools grow old And outsiders ask Why are the men in your culture so cold Were not We love laughing and telling jokes We love chanting poems about hope We love BEING But too often its mistook And what outsiders read Is simply the cover to the book This is the new form of poetry We all cry red tears But our smiles never die Painting humble fears To words unrealized.
Nor can I defend words spoken during high evil
As time moves different when tear drops mixing with *lo** keeps track
At which point
Eye for an eye takes on a new meaning that one cannot give back
Fore sight
See if you can keep up
I though all this up
While laying in my bed
Eyes closed
Cause I cant cry the tears that bled
During famines droughts and deaths
Wondering
What I did to provoke the life I led
Cause people back home
Envy the life that I live
While the ones who live with me
Look to me for an answers I cannot give
Yet
Im no longer ahead of it
Cause I stopped racing
Once upon a time
I would fight a few racists
Just to KNOW I was the better than
Feared cause simply put
I was the unknown man
But I knew
Theres more to the horn
Than black hawk down
Theres more to the horn
The warlords and gun sounds
Theres more to the horn
And I cant explain how
My people are poets
We used to tell stories via drums and chants
The young men chew khat and speak of romance
As the elders grow old and teach the new born the past
Our women gave birth
And birth gave love
Love gave maturity
That made young men evolve
You cannot fathom the cycle of life
When a fool learns the errors of his ways
Steady steps the child takes
The more this fool grows with the passing days
Only to be called
Gramps
One day
As he tells stories of a fool
Who one day grew
And the young men laugh
As the elder just smiles
Thinking
I USED TO BE YOU
Many like myself
Were born outside all of this
But not a moment lost
As we listen to parent reminisce
Once upon a time
I cared to explain
Tell my story till I was drained
To kids who knew nothing about pain
Only tears they ever cried
Was for scraping their knee
Imagine a culture
Where every older female
Was called aunty
In a tongue where the word aunt
Meant SMALL MOMMY
Then war breaks out
And all the little moms
Slowly die out
The few you can remember
Become fewer by the day
No longer crying out
Simply cause the fools forgot
He had a role to play
Neglected the sons
And kept on his foolish ways
Now our women
Can only Give birth to pain
Praying its a daughter
As sons only bare bad news
The elders are far apartnot to mention few
Acting like they have no hearts
Bombing any different view
But during all this *lo**
There are tears of joy
Imagine red tears dripping
Out the eyes of a young boy
Knowing his role and path
But cant decide
Because he has no choice
Our wise die young
And fools grow old
And outsiders ask
Why are the men in your culture so cold
Were not
We love laughing and telling jokes
We love chanting poems about hope
We love BEING
But too often its mistook
And what outsiders read
Is simply the cover to the book
This is the new form of poetry
We all cry red tears
But our smiles never die
Painting humble fears
To words unrealized.