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A Luta Continua

life2Dear life, I’m not tired of you yet, of your swindling. I’m not tired of the surprises. Aren’t this what dreams are made of, uncertainties, brokenness and sometimes, triumph?

I came here with no hint of what I would meet. Each step I took at growing older, you became revealing.

You showed your wit. Sometimes I understood. Other times I just stood lost and watched in bewilderment.

The kids who kicked the chairs we stood on to preach in primary school ended up rich. The kids who preached ended up disoriented. Their parents died of cancer. Their homes were swept by flood or fire, or they became characters in one of those tales of road accidents.

Dear life, I’m not tired of your greenness. Sometimes I doubt that you shared the ability to utilise resources inappropriately. You gave the black man a thick skin and a party mind. You just made him to show off, to make yourself supreme.

I am clueless of your nature. What you show me daily is what I see you as. When you come as mosquito bite, I see you. When you come as a cool aroma from a five star hotel, I embrace you. You are wonders. You could be cruel but you are life.

Dear life, I am not tired of you yet. Your tossing of my head, your twisting of my songs, your heat when I need some cool. The many empty plates.

Dear life, I am not tired of you yet. I could love the good health and the friends. I could smile and I could dance at your giving but I am not tired yet. I love you. I may be abused but I won’t give up. You are beautiful and I accept you for who you are while being hopeful for the best.

 

 

Credit: Bura-Bari Vincent

 

 

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