Walkin On Coals – by Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu (Pengician)
This time I am walkin on coals
Crying out against confusion and crime
I scream against sufferings untold.
I’m walking on coals
Yet things stay same way
Same way twas left yesterday.
And I take a trip to dreamland,
I and likeminds together,
hoping the sun will burn less but tan
hoping to uplift my clan…
I have a plan
But no solution…
This time I am walking on coals
Seeking secretely salvation for souls
who behind me are crawling on coals
seeking for freedom
freedom from what?
-Futile future to unfold…
Will our dreams ever come true?
Will our turn for fortune ever be due?
Must the goodies of life be for the goose?
Will ever the gander get a piece of the pie?
How long shall we munch cakes in dreams alone?
Clime of crimes…
Terrible trying times…
We walk still on coals
Burnt to our soles
Burnt even to our souls.
With bare feet on the ground
Walking same rough road round and around.
Always returning to same ground
from whence we took off…
We sit and search and never stop
hoping to find
solution for the confusion in my time.
I want to know when, where and why
Truth traded truth for lies.
But I cannot condone the cries
of the weak and weary with me behind.
Confusion, deperation and frustration
cover our track.
On crimson sands
are our footprints of black.
Suffering and smiling –
Cosmetically smiling in grin white grin.
Sick and tired, no time to turn back.
We are walking on coals
Long is the road
The waether cold.
Our future as ugly as a toad.
With myopic microscopes
we view in black and white
the rich in fanthom luxoury,
the poor the in sweet agony.
I wish I were karma
I’ll bring forward the Judgement Day.
But here we must wait and wait and wait
loop on until delay
decides to dig the grave
of our opressors.
Stay strong people, stay strong!
all pass by as they please.
Earth on it’s ancient axis
spinning like our aching heads…
and round and round and around we go still
Three hundred and sixty degrees
Matching on the spot-
A step forward
Three step backwards…
Progressing in retrogression.
My throat is sour
and up again is the sun
to stare yet again at our plight
with an incurable burning delight,
Whilst we run and walk and crawl
on this road that has no start nor end
on this road that has no turn
on this road that has no point
on this road that has to bend…
Straight from the start,
stretching on as we approach its assumed end.
I wish I had taken a look
at the little blue book
Mama read at dawn and noon
I wouldn’t have been on this loop
together with this mixed multitude
of North and South and East and West…
My life was almost a waste.
For now I see with eyes so clear
the reason we suffer so drear.
Together we circled this angry flare
round and around in each leap year.
Seeking solution for our confusion.
Now I know…
God bless my sould…!
I discovered the confusion
is not of our nation.
It is the state of our mind.
You hate the Eastern rising son
who sets peaceably on the West.
Disdain for the turban from the North
who left herbs for herds
to hunt for heads.
But love can exist.
Or can it be?
The truth –
it lives in you and me.
The lies can lie forever six feet
if the country that was and is
is left to be…
and all that walk on coals with me
will on their own state trust
and strip the grin white grin
of its sly Brithish sheen.