Earthbound, we cannot go with the wind.

We dance with its wailing breath and remember our birth.

And death is a song our breaths sing when we fail to live.

My heart whispers memories of surviving life.

Before eyes mist I remember that the south of Africa is apparently closer to hell and parrell to heaven.

We were hoping to find a new god, waiting for the scales of lady justice to tip in our favour.

Not afforded a clear view or an understanding of our names and beings, blind to the fact that we hold our destinies in our hands.

The trade systems weighed on our breaths, mines growing on our backs dislocating our children’s beds.

They learn struggle from our eyes.

Freedom has always been our voice; we’ve just been struggling to speak.

Learning foreign body languages that left us bleeding.

Like stars hanging on aging skies calling fiercely to visions not to wonder away from the light.

We are things that forget themselves in the seductive arms of life, left pregnant with hopes of breathing without suffocating.

There are ancient trembles of stories echoing on our skins, arched on our soles and buried deep within.

Easily dismissed because we are a moving wonder of the world trapped in itself looking for rivers of salvation to find itself in.