We Drink With Dirty Nails Poem by Lamin Drammeh

We fell flat, so they could stand tall.
Keep your head in the cloud,
Traders will have no more head to sell.
On our hands, the stars will fall.
Get rid of the extra energy,
The burden will be dropped,
Somewhere, on love's footstep.
Lift a finger, but only in times of help.
Glory is coming and it's ours.
They live a life,
We dream of a life.
Scares of history, erase them with knowledge.
Lift your eyes. Stars!
Let the cycle continue,
With time's hardest laughter.
And our lights, on children's mind.
Point a finger,
But only when showing directions.
They are nostalgic of the future,
We are nostalgic of the past.
Who brought the powder, the blade?
But wait, who sold our broken nails?
Applause. Job well done.
Blood is still red.
And it needs the water we swallow.
Man must drink, regardless.
"Wait! You forgot, our nails are still dirty.
We're on the field."
Our funerals are joyful,
But they're still sailing on a mayflower.