I created a ball around orbits
Different points varied in heat
Also, by cold; on same region
I placed two folks, opposite sex
Same skin, same hairs and I was served…

But their children, explored the ball
And lost in touch of their parents
And that they thought on origin.
Each that settled on vary spots
Was changed by cold and toned by heat.

They all forgot the one language
Of peace, and love their parents spoke
And they called me different names.
As their roots changed, did their believes
Now my image has many names.

They oppress different linguist
They shove themselves for tradition
They fight themselves hurting sisters
Killing brothers all in my names
And the culture they even lost.

If they understood, that there is
A common link and origin
They would not fight, but who would learn
Or listen to my loud thunder cry
And feel my sorrow when it rains…

Even when I tell then, the blunt truth
On origin of tribes, and the strides
That brought about different skins,
Hairs, languages and religions
They will still call me a fake god.

Whereas I am still the creator
And they, the product of my hands
Who prefer to use my name but
Searching for me they throw me out
When they get close to finding me.

©2018 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu