If the tree grows again
I won’t have to wait for it’s seasoned fruits
Love, peace and unity in the pieces I write would be such fruits
I’ll stand in the light, so people would always hung around for shade
And be the tree they climb way to the top
I’d understand why Steve Biko would stand tall
So if with black skin, pure life was would come
Try diplomacy and maybe the nazi way if diplomacy would hit Hitler’s wall
So he fought those he’d not fight and wouldn’t join them
I wouldn’t blame his allies but just his roots
So if the tree is to stand tall, the roots must learn to go deep, I learn
Biko’s effort are the blackberries we eat today
So with all their rifles, charm and resilience, we’ve never heard of whiteberries
If the gets to grow again,
I’ll tend it’s shoots, prune when time is come
Do whatever it takes to the top, grin myself only to ensure that it’s leaves are ever green and fruits ever abounding
I’d tell her how I failed to listen to my parents when they’d tell me
To stay home and school at home and my days would be holy
But such would always choke and would disgrace my holidays
So I’d go out, not to play, but enjoy my youth which I knew not would grace with a fat tummy
So even my hoods didn’t smart me again, for parenthood was the parenthesis standing between me and my dreams
But I’ll tender and mend her, so she’ll become the doctor I dreamt I’d be
So this gender won’t be blamed anymore
I’ll tell her of the female chartered companies in the globe
But also remind her of the shattered dreams slipped off by female characters who are always at will enjoying their youth
I’ll tell her of how my life has been like a glowing splint
That at the beginning of things, fire was sure to start
But my youthful stats deeped the splint in cool waters that never quenched my youth, I’ll tell her all my wrongs
So she’ll have to learn from my wrongs and run to her correct self
So if for the least of things I didn’t make it to carpentry,
I’d once remember hitting the nail at the head
Thank you
By
James Musau