Hear me, my golden child!
Like cocoons carefully stretched into silky threads, weave my words tautly across your heart. Like cloaks hugged selfishly on cold chilly nights, keep my thoughts closely wrapped around your mind; for the beads of my breaths are soon to break from its string. And like shrunken seeds in a dried-up pod, I am soon to scatter onto the lap of the “mighty weaver” above.
Hear me, my golden child!
Your drums lie buried in the dust under the forgotten bodies of our defeated heroes. Dig your hands deep and feed your soul with the grains of their blood. Carry their drums and carry their weight upon your bosom. Do not falter in your steps and do not look back; for you are to march your procession-of-life alone, with your head held high. And you are to learn every beat that matches the footsteps of your followers, until you no longer lead but walk with them as one.
Hear me, my golden child!
Give your sermons loud and give them clear. Let the people know what heaven and hell is made of. But before you do, sit with your kin and witness the rape of our mother. She had been robbed of her humanity and compassion. She had been ripped bare of her faith and beliefs. Be kind to her as she was unto our fathers. Kneel beside her and cry for her for a while; for you are the one to wash her wounds with love. And give praise for her seas, trees, breeze and the children of this land and to those who are yet to come.
Hear me, my golden child!
Rise among them and feel the beat of your people. In a land where not a white dove is allowed to soar high, learn to stay strong like a free man in his own jail. In a land where bars, chains and cuff are used to hush the songs of justice, learn to sing like a man jailed in his own freedom. And rule among them in such a way that no “new blood” shall count you as “prolonged years” or the tyrant with a rusty fist.
Now, ask me not who I am. Ask me not where I am. For I am in the silent breeze that crosses vast oceans and sandy banks, just to rest in the softness of your cheeks. I am in the fading twilight that traverses over lagoons and palms, just to be caged in the perfume of your breath. I am your light. I am your Mother! The Mother who will never come to be!
Hear me, my golden child!
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