We are created in God’s image, right?
Does that mean God too forgets things?
Like we forget birthdays and showing gratitude?
Did He forget that we, Africa’s people, are His children too?
Or maybe we are God’s bastard children,
Belials and Jabezs,
Formed in His moment of angst
Our soul made with mud and divine tears,
And the sorrow in those tears
Testifies against us, always:
We remind God that we are His children, too.
His son bore the world’s burden up on Calvary
For one day, before dying –
He took the stripes of his detractors with courage
Spit. Blood. Piercings.
His son, our brother- The Christ
But our sons have borne the burdens of this world for centuries
We have taken stripes from foes and brothers alike,
Shed blood, rend children from mothers’ breast,
Our heritages have been razed, our land raped, death reigns over us!
And if you listen intently at night to the wind,
Listen really hard,
You will hear it carry the gruesome cries for salvation
By nigger voices, of many generations –through millennia –
And God wept that night His Christ died,
He stormed through heaven with grief
He overturned graves, darkened day, rented space
Shook the universe –
God wept, for His son.
And are we not His children too?
Why then has He sat on His ice-throne, and watched coldly
As pain became a member of our tribes
And grief our intimate?
Remind God, stir His spirit, shout at Him:
We too are your children!