BY GLORIA OKOYE
“I stand with the brothers and sisters out in Edmonton, for the incognito meeting about removing the drums out of the women’s institutions across Turtle Island.”
The rhythm of the drums
Beats to the melodies sung by Earth
Herself.
Singing songs for her offsprings
Creations big and small
As she rotates with her galactic body,
A speck of the universe’s creation itself.
Her heartbeats are mimic into forms
Of miniature creations of songs.
Ceremonies and gatherings
That the wisdom is passed on
From generations,
The elders share amongst all.
In the depths of the belly of the beast,
Brothers and sisters united for years to bring traditions inside
As the sounds are the symbol of life
And hope in a place far away
From everything surrounding,
A world that continues to move on.
Forgetting everything on the other side of
The wall.
For years all was well
Till the root of all evil flourished
Intertwining with roots that were thriving,
Established before greed.
Now all are at risk of combusting into an
Inferno,
Collateral damage like the black holes
Consuming the molecules of hope.
Decision making with groups made
Of contracted beings
That will act to save and rise their positions
No matter which foundations get destroyed.
Outside world wouldn’t bat an eyelash
As it doesn’t concern them at the current state.
Only the cracks will seep of residual damage would people know.
But by then it would be too late.
