Journey Man's Song Poem by Ndina Kamaro Muofhe

Now I narrate when I am calm
The rage is a folded paper
With limited space for us to write about us
And our beauty beneath the sun rays

A walking dream is a danger to the odds
But for one that sleeps, the profit is more yawns
Some never had silver spoons when they were born
They had to dig until they find
But let no one tells you is easy
That will be a lie dressed as a cursed confetti

Tranquility scares the restless egos
They become storms to uproot such a solid stance
In failure to win, they call on more to conquer
Until there is no saint left in the wild

Some never had silver spoons when they were born
They became fishermen with rods
Until their hooks catch what lies deep in the nerve of a river
To carry home what has been their desire
They did not cry until they can not stand
But instead their cries compose lyrics of eloquence
Tomorrow, they declared a nomansland
Today, is the day they reckoned