Rachana McPherson

Every day we fight for strength,
That which will lead us to the end,
Those fight for peace and freedom and love
That fights with a strength sent from God above
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There’s no story told like one experienced,
No pain felt like that endured.
Beneath the deck of a ship I was trafficked,
No words given, no care shown
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Sing to me the song that shapes your beauty, those words responsible for your sensational lips, and those lyrics that designed your curves and your hips.

Sing to me the melody of your sexy intelligence, the harmony that choreographed your gliding steps, and the dynamics that shakes your lusting breasts.
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Say what you may, do as you please
Sing the songs you like, and eat all you need
This freedom you have came about from many fights,
And at the end of the day, all we ever say is,
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Staring into the depth of her soul,
The colour of her eyes is one to behold,
It’s not ocean blue nor hazel green,
Its not caramel brown, but it’s a black pearl sheen.
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Your tears are a language which only God understands,
And it’s a language which speaks truthful words from the heart.
The days when this ‘language’ is spoken off the walls of my face,
Are the days when I fell helpless and my lack of faith is seemingly great.
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When will we stand?
Shall we wait for the day when deranged homicidal maniacs take control of our hospitals, or when religious extremists become principals of our schools?
Or shall we wait until the satanic churches and segmented groups thereof take full control of the country’s political systems?
WHEN WILL WE STAND?
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