Tears of horror

By Atok Dan

As tears trickle down my cheeks,
my face horrifies in aloofness
My face fickle with tears of death
I dare not to say it,
but dare to sympathize with the horrors of others
We called each other generation of horrible experiences
Generation of starved skeletons
A generation that survives on the legumes in camps

With unfathomable expressions on our faces,
We still live in abundance love
We still share a half-empty glass of murky waters
Even on the edge of death bed
Our faces are still seen as unflappable
We still laugh though surviving on alms
Even on the roots of wild elms

They called us a generation of legumes
They called us children of beans
We emerged strong but a generation that exploited the generosity
We were not just blues, yellows, or even green
But our collective identity remains red
We fought battles but not battles of cattle
We fought hunger with anger
We hooded the horn for battle but in childhood
We did it more than our parents but perennially

For those in danger, we extend our hands of gratitude
For those in risked, we risked to rescue them
For those that underestimated us, we overjoyed them with enthusiasm
Without tires on our feet, our tiny feet traveled deserts, valleys, mountains, and swamps
Without clothes on our backs, we sacrificed our hard black skins to cold and heat
Our melanin was baked more blackish
Our teeth and hands were molded into hammers for breaking hard objects
We sleepwalk slipping off rough roads like a patient in agony in a sick bed