The curse of being black with no direction,
lost with no resurrection,
hopes of a future blurry,
lost and it’s looking scary.
I wanna change the world, give birth to a star like Virgin Mary,
be a star that shines brighter in life’s darkest alley.
But how can you be early, when some can barely sleep,
and hope they never keep because miseries are always deep?
They always weep.
Dead like Isaac without the holy sheep.
See, this is a story of a little girl trapped in a pain cell.
She wanted to be something when she grows up, says her pen pal.
She wanted to be a star, the female version of Denzel,
Angel that fell from heaven straight to African hell.
She had a cute smile but her clothes had a terrible smell,
’cause she was left to rot in the street like a leftover meal.
The story is real. It even made the devil crush to tears.
Now she fantasizes about going beyond hemispheres,
where people can live together without sharpening their spears.
Because her dad was lost in war, her mama was lost in tears.
Her sister wants more; her brother was ruled over by the beers.
Yet she had the dream of being Lesotho’s first Britney Spears.
Now the future is blurry, left without the Son like Virgin Mary.
The burden is heavy like, “Why did I have to leave the belly?”
Like, “Why did I have to be the sperm to reach the ovum early?”
She contemplates about her date with fate in the grave,
with no shackles and chains on her feet — but she feels like a slave.
They call her an Ave, a shortcut meaning to street life.
Divorced her home, she became an ex — never a housewife.
Blood, tears and sweat — that defines her life.
If she was still alive I would make her my wife.
Sibusiso Adontsi (20th century) Lesotho
Source: The Christian Chronicle
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