ARTIST. GRIOT. ACTIVIST

People waiting for their time to change, will rise up to things terrible and strange. The beast in every man shocks and shames, and men hide behind masks, hoping to escape blame. Life displays its wits in senseless practical jokes, and every furrow must be plowed under the burden of yokes, and till the thunder balls begin to fall, no one ever heeds the warning call of a Dove On Distant Oaks.

You learn to hold onto your doubts, but you are careful not to let your light burn out. You’ve seen people reach for the skies with nothing but the light of a distant star in their eyes. The memory of them is now but a fossil in a rock, clouded over by time’s vapors and choking smoke. But for every bleached bone on the burning sand, a cry is heard all over the land, of a Dove On Distant Oaks.

Life displays its wits in senseless practical jokes, and every furrow must be plowed under the burden of yokes. And till the thunder balls begin to fall, no one ever heeds the warning call Of a Dove On Distant Oaks.

©Naan Pocen