Hold my hand through this
A collective, last breath from the body of believers
torn apart, like an old garment with a patch of unshrunk cloth
A new generation of Ethiopians sewn into a society with ancient, unjust practices discovers the soul, like the self, is universal, but the old fabric cannot absorb the wisdom at work. The old fabric is stretched until it disintegrates and a new Ethiopia rises from the earth. The seed must die first. As it is sown, as it is watered, as we learn, faith accumulates, knowledge populates, understanding satiates
When they ask for blood,
God gives us hope.
When they demand our land,
God gives us a lasting education.
When they separate our families,
God provides us love to warm our hearts, to ignite generations.
Say, O Ethiopia, who will cry for a cathected country? Who among us will live?
To see the sun take its place
To see the moon with a smile on its face
free from the terrors of the night, of ignorance, of the fight for life
To remember this, too, shall pass
To wait for our mourning to crash into a dance
To begin again
And return to the earth as women, children and men
We ask You this: how many more will be missed?
Forgive us for our distance in this relay where we bear witness
We are running great lengths to cross a finish line –
the point when the country will wave the flag, play the anthem and our hearts of gold will be purified, refined
When our tears of wax melt to reveal sacred facts:
~ So many died today, can we bring them back? ~
Or can we build anew?
I suffer like you
Our humanity liberation is intertwined
This moment, let us make true the words:
“Freedom is mine. Freedom is yours. Freedom is ours.”
And the reward will be well-earned
December 18, 2015