Cassava Dreams

My village was small, yet not lacking,
Humble made a home amongst us.
My mother's cassava touched tongues the sweetest.
Maybe because our hands
Gave it life.
My hands...

I dreamt of my life within the fields,
And slept with a quiet relief of piece,
As a plague crept and trampled cassava dreams,
Ripped out my heart,
Took my life.
My hands...

My life's their armor, dispensable.
Humble hearts now vicious with brown-brown.
My tongue was heavy as blood flooded those fields,
Because of my hands.
Stole sweet life.
My hands...

*Cassava is a main staple in regions of Africa, a country with an estimated 120,000 child soldiers.*Brown-brown is a gun powder based drug used to control these children.