Raised by a village of fumbling idiots we can’t help but imitate
A thin line that connects us to the past that has been interwoven with our future
We carry on burdens past, like the stench that clings to a shoe
Sometimes, we may tilt our heads and look the other way, but there is always a memory that shifts us back to default
Are we truly as independent as we think?
I think not
For we are all reflections of our little villages
Villages with blind chiefs
They were once kids you know
Those you look up to
They once crawled, and depended on grown ups
Now their actions have shaped our lives in a way
For better or for worse
Do we fault them, or take a scissor to the thread
Will we truly be free?
About the Creator
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By S. A. Crawford2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Satire at it's best. The first line already had me rolling 😂. I like how Ms. Asom is able to weave into various tones, make you laugh yet make you do some introspection & still deliver the message. If "fools also grow old" was a poem, this would be it! 👍🏽