The Butter Fly That Calls Himself A Bird.
The butterfly that called himself a bird,
Never knew he is a quarter of third,
The cap that calls himself the palace's crown
Never knew the nose is far to the head.
The men abroad called themselves Afric's Crown,
And called the men 'neath seas their winsome slaves;
Never knew that a stone thrown hits just once,
Never knew mud thrown stone splits at them all;
Never knew our shrine has the dare and gut–
Never knew Masquerade's wear isn't rags–
Never knew the rag is e'vn attractive.
So they came and sold their ugly culture,
The culture 's abroad junks dumped to our land,
And our land is not a bush though it has,
And our heart is not art nor path apart–
They're like a full moon threaten'ng silent night,
Who does the moon help, our dream or the sky?
See, talkie talkie is a blind radio,
They can even fly at night for they think
they are bird; just a humming butterfly
that crawls –like the snake– when rough thunder squeaks.
"words from the innocent mind"