Do not enslave your thoughts to the ashes of Eden,
Do not build your hope upon the tight pocket of mental women learning to wipe out their sweat against the wall of your voicelessness and fear.
Do not ask why the gods woke from the laps of
an harlot learning to be saved by Pope Francis.
Those sagging sadness on your face shall wear a smile again when the healing balms shall come.
When the scorching sun breathes life to torn mouths of dying motion and starlet shimmer,
Unto your craving eyes shall blood stained hill
Fail to glitter again to men of goodwill &love.
This light of ours shall shadow breakthrough.
They may call you a broken rib, but do not dodge potholes to kill a surviving fleeing rat in fear.
Until the world heals you from these viruses.
Do not spend your night in the feet of grief,
Sit at the fireplace to gaze at the moon belching.
Do not empty your dreams into leaking water jar
Your fate is not cracked, my boy, yes, it is not.
Stars lean to learn to speak million things in silence buttressed by committed compliments.
Don’t deny a woman her place for the world belong to no man in particular but all of us who dream.
We will heal you of this hurtful plight created.
No matter the scars on your bleeding face
No matter how brave you think you can be
There is a race for your pace and places.
Always look out for a healing shoulder, my boy.
A shoulder that has no fire burning in the crossroad between her black and heavy thighs.
We all burn the same way but the society stereotype some reasons why we burn differently.
till we roll up this suffering mat of summer pains,
Till we meet to archive those words for the boys,
Till the smothering voice of a young boy is heard above the drones of burning hearts &boulevard.
Till they understood the Story revolving around
The corner of the BoyChild’s testament burst,
This light of ours shall bring healing process
before the benefits of the sky, the cloud & our souls. Healing is paramount to self survivals.
©John Chizoba Vincent