Poetry Collection

Before the first altar was built on the dirt, Before the first king claimed the crown of your worth, Before the tribal chief mapped out the boundary line, You walked on the Earth as a sovereign design. No ledger existed to measure your breath, No system installed the division of death, No contract was signed in the dark of the night, You stood in the presence of Creator’s light. The architecture of cages was far in the deep, Humanity walked before learning to sleep, You did not need numbers, or profiles, or names, To justify life in their theater of claims. Remember the coordinate, silent and old, Before your obedience was packaged and sold.

The bug in your pocket is farming your eyes, It feeds on your outrage, it sells you the lies, It paints the screen bright in the glamour of red, To install the machine loops inside of your head. But withdrawal begins when you turn it to grey, When you switch off the prompts at the end of the day, When you disarm the buzzer that commands your sight, And walk out alone in the quiet of night. It lands in the dirt where you scatter the seed, It lives in the neighbor you barter to feed, It writes on the paper with ink and with hand, Unregistered presence upon the green land. No database holds you, no dashboard can trace, The sovereign soul stepping out of the chase.

They landed in kingdoms with books in their hands, To study the borders and soften the lands, The agents on mission, the pioneer host, Who set up their altars along the cold coast. With Education they captured the Soul, With Spirituality they claimed the control, With Medicine offered to heal up the head, While paving the way for the army of dread. For the missionaries walked so the mercenaries could run, To weaken the spirit before the great gun, They educated the heir, they captured the throne, And left the great kingdom divided, alone. A quiet program of spiritual capture, That turned the deep kingdom to colonial rapture.