The sleeping man lies his face flat on the ground. The sleeping man feels the concrete warm his face and thinks of it as home. The sun is out glistening on him, but all he feels is the smoothering heat, mother natures warm blanket saves him. Mankind walks by numb to his despair, not that they don’t care it’s an agony to hard to bear so they dont stare. In his slumber the sleeping man listens and hears the soothing voices of his ancestors echo and send an angry rumble that strikes his heart.
They said, the concrete jungle is no ones home. You stay on your feet or face defeat. Swallowed by the city’s buzz you, fight to see clearly through the mist that the life lies within you. Arise from the ashes and seize power for you are no walking carcas enslaved by the working hours or trapped by the hovering towers.
Dear Son, brother and father. Unchain yourself. Break the generational curse, instill in him the values of courage and strength. Let him take pride, in knowing that what matters lies within.
Worthy soldier, stand up carry the knights sword, carve your name is into stone so that they will know that you are a worthy king.
Sleeping Man awake in this golden hour, the rays of light are in you, stand up and be free.
Written by Kea Mooka