Their lives are broken,
As cracked as the red, dry dirt,
Beneath my feet, under my toes.
I smell the angst of poverty.
I sniff the dung of the cows,
I climb the hills of weighted burdens.
Every crack; like one small piece of sorrow.
Connected to the next,
As sorrow upon sorrow runs through the landscape of their lives.
Yet they smile,
Greet me, “Habari!”
Looking, watching, for
Cheering hope, in each hello.
Their hearts are troubled, their souls are dry,
Their bodies, truly, daily die.
So when the rain comes, heavy down,
Upon the dry, unfertile ground,
They look with wonder, up at the sky –
To see if God is passing by, saying:
“Deliver me from this pain,
The lifetime lived in such mundane.”
Watching, they lift up their hands,
From the broken, weary land,
At such a time as this, I bleed.
In my heart, for Liberty.
For joy and love to free the chained,
The blind, the sick, the poor, the lamed.
And, can the One truly save,
These lives, their hopes to re-pave?
Upon the broken, cracked brown path,
I prayed that souls would be kept from wrath.
Under the arms of tree spread wide,
I prayed that Faith would come alive.
For if there is one thing to fear,
It’s eternity spent in fire and tears.
In this land, where Time stands still.
I pray the Lord will redeem our wills.