The Formation of “YES”

It is said that “The road to hell
is paved with good intentions”,
and we that walk it, our paths
are predestined,
each footprint we make is parked
in a place pre-marked, we merely
march after the shadows of our own selves.

It is said that “whatever will be will be”,
that fate has already cast her dice,
be we mice or men,
we are tied to the tune of that tempest,
thus me must dance to it.

On this day,
I demote that to merely a schematic
of existence, stolen half-finished
from a vault in the valley of thought,

On this day,
I deny that theory it’s voice
and send it spinning on an axis
of its alter-ego,
the consequence of choice,

On this day,
I say No.

In the grand canyons of the west,
red dusted children have learnt
to remix that tempest
using their heartbeats as drum machines
and lungs as amplifiers.

Before newly lit fires,
Afro-Blue children are born to the sun
setting and are sworn to speak through
kente cloths, songs of revolutions past
and are told to re-invent them for the future.

Pink children are empowered with pupils
but are taught not to use them.
Yellow children have dug
deeper into their roots and wrecked havoc
on the boots of the men before them,

cross-colored by the sun,
they have all learnt to walk,
But they are angry,
And they are running.

As of yet,
they have run
through falling bombs and
burned out building,
burdened with tear stains
that still scream “No”

They have run
through oceans of landmines
and the unfortunate, blown sky high
were fortuned to greet the gods,
who granted them the sandals of Mercury,
sent then scurrying back towards the light,
they are still running,
still screaming “No”
WE,
We are still running,
still screaming “No”

As of yet,
we have run though
the highways of famine,
through the portholes of pestilence,
through the ways of wars
still screaming “No”

We have run through the mires
of majesty, sent scouts into
the metaphysic and the unknown,
they have returned broad minded
but empty handed,
still screaming “No”

We have run though the citadels
of secrecy, through the allotments of life
allotted for death,
we have died millions of times,
but we are still living,
still running,
still screaming “No!”

With our children before us and
our children’s children before them,
we are running part reckless,
part homeless, part heartless,
seeing through camouflaged pupils
and tainted visors with divine visions
interrupted by the views of our falsely
led forefathers,

Spear headed by Greed-
“ the inability for man to distinguish
desire from need”, we are multi-phonic,
multi-hued, angry, desperate, tired, hungry
and we arrive fighting amongst ourselves,
panting, breathless on the borders of history,
at the point of the present,
on the rims of infinity,
at the gates of glory,
We arrive thus...
and we realize that
There Are No Roads Left.
None.

And we will stand here,
still running, still fighting amongst ourselves,
still screaming “No”,
building no bridges forward,
till we look inward
and decide
to say

“Yes.”

Inua Ellams