Ignorance, like a dreaded wind,
waits in ambush for our ripening youth;
waiting to blow them out of the footprints
we have left and hoped they to travel.
No longer must we allow the mold of ignorance
and the festering fungal deceit of history
rot away the minds of our precious fruits. Rather,
we must refresh their minds with the essence
and the healing flowing waters of Ourstory.
We must snatch them from the crisis winds
of unawareness; teaching them to listen well
with their eyes and ears—laboring in contemplation,
allowing the midwife of revelation to deliver divine
truths to seeded fruits—their mold of ignorance cured.
Let us be mindful that the fresh fruits of aged wombs—
in beauty—have fragility; needing to be anchored, moored,
and strengthened, to withstand the serpentine winds
of injustice, and its winding stair-cases of veiled bigotry.
Let us solidify our children in the journey of liberation’s footprints;
let us reflect on the destination of the journey with un-fogged words;
let us infuse them with clear truths of Ourstory and their purpose in it.
If the fruit does not fall far from the tree, let us be the trees of love; let us
us be the trees of longsuffering; the trees of faithfulness and self-control;
the trees planted by the waters—sustaining our fruits to conquer the times.
If there be any sense…any reasoning…any truth…in these webbed words,
then pluck and think on them as if bitten by the curiosity of hived bees.