Epiphany of an Oracle

An oracle whispers far from the ancient rivers behind mountains, echoes of
renaissance.
Disseminating the tales of Waiyaki wa hinga a paragon of virtue,
An efficient worrier buried Alive as he stood immune against oppressors.
King Hantsa decapitated his head displayed as an ornament,
Lands he governed a spoil for his assassinators, African hamper sparks interests.
The oracle begun to sing songs, far from west where traditions of the soil are
suppressed,
In oceans where our memories were dumped, in voyage where our ancestors
endured pain and scrolls of knowledge washed away.
Why was the child of the soil viewed as a commodity? He continued to sing soothing
melodies hoping wounds will heal.
Yet he questions, why such atrocities went with impunity? Devils blade is sharper
than the law, he thought.
Silence after the song ended, his vocal-cords were swellon; he began speaking let
those who were oppressed excavate their historical memory, replicate it and teach
it through black imagination.
The epiphany faded in thin air, realizing that how imperative is our identity as
people of the soil.
Knowing our identity shall pay dividends in diversity and contribute in plural society.

By, Smurf