The Lamb

Before the sacrifice is a blade,

It’s a promise, a belief that 

What’s given in all honesty 

Shall return. The blood against 

Flesh, hungry for mercy, at the 

Mouth of compromise everything 

Falls short of trust, by this, I mean,

We will always, against all odds 

Choose ourselves before anything else,

A kind of curse, that in the face of suffering,

Survival is anything the body does 

To escape shame.

Unlike History, we can heal

             After Derek Walcott 

Years after the ethnic cleansing of 

The Tutsi, I’m here now in the land

That has endured the deaths of its children,

I’m here, before the land that has been stabbed 

A billion times for everything it has

Done to save it people, yet today its 

Serenity is more than enough evidence 

Wrapped in the mouth of a swift eagle 

To remind us that the world 

Can cut you, but cannot 

Decide how you let your 

Wound heal, how you care

For it enough to not leave 

No scars.

Returning 

Let us now sail across the seven seas,

Let us swim through the waters with

Our hearts burning with indigo,

The color of a rainbow,

Let us walk the shores,

And return home,

With stories in our hearts,

With memories in our minds,

And take back the intense heat of 

Being back, 

For we have surrendered 

The slaughter of ourselves 

To the kind knife of being home.