by Keena Diaspora

No longer members of the family,
Their pictures linger in albums
Their belongings often auctioned
Their spirits placed in coffins 
Six feet under 
As if they were dead
And we treat them that way 

At their gravesides we cry 
And ask why 

At their funerals we feast 
And donít offer them a bite to eat

So now theyíre  
Homeless and left behind with
No visitors
No shrine

No water 
No wine

No tofu  
No swine 

No deck of cards to pass the time
Yet we claim that the spirit lives

Well anything that lives 
Needs a bit of sustenance 
We talk so much about tradition
We talk so much about African religion
We talk so much but donít listen 

Wonít bring them back to the living
Donít feed them from our kitchen

Donít approach them with our problems
Donít ask them for protection
Their names are hardly mentioned

So apparently
The free African descendants 
Donít truly believe in transcendence 

Weíll never gain independence
As long as
We let 

Come upon us 

Stealing our Ancestors

We bless death by
Ignoring our Ancestors
Neglecting our Ancestors
Forgetting our Ancestors
Disrespecting our Ancestors
Denying our Ancestors

Ancestors left for dead
And just to think 
We couldíve saved them at their funerals

Honor thy Ancestors
And stop making orphans out of them  

Orphans by Keena Diaspora

© Copyright 2006. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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