Of hatred and freedoms

Words gathered by way of the Motherland.

No hatred of freedoms,
it is hatred
of interference,
the subterfuge
and racism
while you reap coin
from treachery…

as controlling the means
of production
don’t make
you a victim.

To be astute
at telling
the stories
of the Ancestors
in the cradle
of mankind…
the Motherland
while some refute,
the truth
of the roots…
that is the origin
of us all
as the nobility
gifted is glorious,
but it is the job
of Griots
to tell it succinctly
and unblinking…
until the children
of the mighty ones
are called home.

As I sip wine
leisurely,
bathed in the rays
of the sun…
too unbothered
for the profundity
of burdens,
I refuse
to shoulder them
and give them
no quarter…

pardon this barrage
as I aim
for the fuselage
or the cerebral cortex
from the crates
of wanderlust
by way of venues,
around the Earth
where we emit
electro magnetic
energy
via feet
to disperse
of the shackles,
as 40 hours
ain’t equivalent
to forty acres,
while waging
omnipresent battles
with the Sunday
scaries.