Shadow of despair glimpsed through the heart of the innocent ones, when licking the blood of their sweat was a magnificent hobby for them. Where freedom was not defined, yet they felt it was divine never to be define, they grew up in such a blindfolded adoring culture.
Love is the beginning and the end, the acme of what solution entails. When you know love, you live love, which is a precondition to filling the soul. The moment you know not love, you are a failure.
There comes mighty rain of challenges, where the sound of the lighting was heard and the brightness of the sound was seen. Children gallivanting on the terrain of the street, begging to satisfy their stomach. The stomach need to define homeostasis, if our forefathers were brought up like a slave, should a slave nuture slaves. For these cause, the unforgotten illness had piled, then complicated love looks beautiful.
Africa parenting has nuture posterity to the level of considering punishment, rigorous beating, unpleasant words to seems lovely. I was beaten some years back, but at the end of the serious pouring of tears, all what I could hear from my parent to soothing my mind was, “Joshua we love you, that was why we beat you for your wrongs”. Then I asked myself, is it that love comes as a result of serious beating when a wrong is done? Who will heal the illness of love? Lots of indiscriminate murdering has been done to love. If the scenario above happens to thousands of children in Africa wheather through parents or guardians, then love will be easy to measure.
But the breath in my spirit speaks louder than before, that, no matter what happens to love, our dreams are valid.