journey through

Prayer of desperation Your child was weeping, father, lamenting about her life, about what she had and what she did not. She wanted you to come into her life, to erase her shame, and allow her a little glory. To wipe the tears off her face, and give her a little cheer. Oh father, she craved a child, but when you gave her a womb, you took away her life. When you gave her the farm to cultivate, you took away the rain. Oh thy hand has been too strong, and your blow too tough. You have attacked us, with hands of stone, and thy rod and staff has long ceased to comfort us. Oh why have we wept for bread, only to be handed scorpions? Why have we prayed for fish and you give us snakes? We shall sing a song for you father, not one of praise but one soaked with lamentations. We shall sing a song, a loud and lewd song, full of provocation, a song of anger, and ire. Oh we shall sing. We shall sing a song, but shall we sing for the child unborn of the woman dead? Father, we are at crossroads, and

When I become a hero If the men come for me today, again, I shall let them toss me around just as they did yesterday, like the wind does to a stray paper. I shall let them drag me down, and across the fields with their horses. I shall let them call me names, and I shall let them, hold vigils for me. I shall be content to watch them, drag my name through the mud. I shall not flinch when their whips hit me on the back, nor will I be shaken when they chastise me with their scorpions, for I know that it is just but for a time. I know that there are many blank pages that I have to fill, and there is so hard a road that I have to walk, but I know that someday, I shall become a hero. I shall play a victim for some time, and like a bitter pill I will let their torture go down my throat, and I shall not weep or lament, because I know that someday when I become a hero, I shall look down at them, and they shall bow in supplication. They will kiss my feet, and they will write my name on their arm