Dear Baaami, I want to remind you Of how we lost our way on a night Where Libya slit our future with daggers of horror And we became a poem on slavery's archive
I saw voices sinking like a fallen dream, I saw bodies, dropping like fading sighs Tears- tatooed on scalp of naive sands Noices, slay silence on a night of wounded memories.
It was a night where our smiles limped off our jaded faces And fear cracked our soul with claws of brutality Dreams buried- we became the sad song of a barren night
My brother's blood crawled to kiss my scar for the last time And to give her blessing on my quest with my newly found buddy- slavery. The cry of our sisters would spank my bald conscience- Whenever their undefiled thighs appease fuming fangs: In their eyes, I could see a young girl whose dignity is stolen
Chains, whips, punches, kicks: Like a father would say to his child "Do not die until you have made a mark on the pages of life" The quote is fulfilled, but our backs became the pages of life, And the whips made their mark on us.
We died papa, even before death rescued us But papa, do not forget this: We are silhouettes that won't feel the face of a new dawn, And remember that when dream falls, actuality becomes a mirage