"An Identity in crisis".
A child of the soil.
A son of the dirt.
Molded by the caring
arms of the mother land.
Natured from birth by
her stern love,
Welded into shape by
the soft touch of her rough hands.
What has become of the
molded son?
Is this what the humongous
hands of the potter envisioned him to be?
And those “words”, what
were their vision?
Was it a son who forgot
not of the blood that ran through the clay that molded him?
A descendent who forgot
not the roots that hold deep in the soil that birth him?
The grandchild who
remembered always the vast and rich culture of generations and generations imbedded
in his DNA?
Has he possibly shone
away from this vision?
An Afro born child of
the 21st century,
Adopted and bred by the
ever evolving mother Tech.
Mother to the fiercely
competitive house of generation Z.
god son of father
globalization.
Loyal brother to sister
social media.
His eyes and heartbeat,
a gift from the constant rapid evolution of the scholarly modern world
An outlook curved into
a formless shape by the digital bird,
The instant grams of
the world,
And millions of uploads
on the tube.
A citizen of the net.
What has become of the
child?
Has his netizenship
eroded the soil from which he came from?
Does a world in need of
his clay hands exist?
Is there place a where
new roots can intertwine with the old ones?
Has his identity been
lost?
Or in his hands lies
the power to make it what he wills.
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