Mirrors & Heros

By: Fahneith Merutepiaou 𓆑 𓄿 𓀋 𓋋 𓏏 𓆇𓃇 𓁐

Child of the earth, seeker of truth, 

Nurture the unfurled, 

the fronds holding history in its roots. 

“Every elder that dies is a library burned,” 

The ancestors told us more than once; so heed their words. 

In this modern world, 

The boy and the girl 

will burn a village 

to feel the warmth in the dearth 

Throw Mothers on bonfires to feel the warmth of Fathers. 

Comes the Holy drama - a cleansing Catharsis, 

To the Illusions seared on retina’s 

to imagine lies, 

Detached from our sight, 

Catholicism - Religion - eyes taken for eyes, 

-reality comes from what the invisible gives the blind to visualise; 

Reality is divine. 

Whats with Trademarking grandma’s on the mantle - what’s on my mantra is hers and mine. Images aren’t owned by media groups, 

Neter over Netflix - to have us repeat heliacal loops, but we’re caught in the meta-web - jumping in traps and algorithm hoops. 

Infact, Images are artifacts, 

Shining shrines are the eyes,

Catalysing spiritual impact. 

art emitting S.T.E.A.M 

Eye to eye - loops of biofeedback. 

Inspect the sleep- remove your cataracts, 

See the perfect model of Osiris and Isis living in you, 

Reclaim your heritage - act - as Heru 

That’s what - Revolutions require of you. 

Drums sound with Sankara’s call, 

His voice, illuminates STH wars 

Silver thread stitching futures, 

Aluminium resistance - 

Won’t corrode in corruption, 

Reigniting flames of truth 

since Mizrahs fall. 

Stood in the reflection of distorted stories, identities scattered. Dogon winds whispered of Kebtah, 

The path of personal revolution - to shine our stars, 

“Change yourself,” and change the world.” 

Sankara’s raspberry beret, 

rose to be a mirror for the masses, 

Reflecting dignity, courage, and hope. 

Kind of figure we needed for the culture antithesis to Poli-tricksters and Popes. “Let us produce what we consume, 

And consume what we produce,”

The plow for the gun, 

The farmer the soldier of the soil 

Imbedding rounds of revolutionary fruit. 

“Our country must be self-reliant,” 

He told us, planting seeds 

in our hearts. 

Do you not see? 

Question; Who is seeing in the mirror looking back at me? 

Then came Traoré, 

a Pharoah has dawned, 

Eyes that pierce the mystery of what was fallen and mourned. “Let us reject their loans,” he said, 

“For sovereignty is not for sale.” 

He too held a mirror to the people, 

And in its reflection, they saw their power. 

“We are the architects of our own destiny,” 

His voice declared, firm as the mountains 

Agile as the sea. 

Guidance from the firmament of earth, Bayuali - feeding our Ancestral testimony. In the wisdom of the keepers, sight is sacred. 

Not just what the eye perceives, 

But what the spirit envisions in dreams. 

“See yourself,” said Neb Naba Lamoussa Morodenibig, 

Shone a light though cracks in the commandments,

So we can truly live 

instead of existing, 

“As more than flesh, more than name— 

You are the vessel of ancestral light, 

A spark of the eternal flame.” 

Child of the earth, do you see your image? 

Polaroids of Sankara in modest garb, 

Monuments rising in Ouagadougou’s squares, 

The faces etched in stone mountains and behind curtains of deleted memory. More than World-wars, Rushmore and Liberty - 

to mark our real history, 

Mirrors of the spirit, aura’s of the energy, signatures of the soul. Messages in pictures pegged on lines flapping in the breeze of east- westerlies… Still night, inward gaze, 

beyond dreams wake, 

See the vision of your ancestors, 

Fire entrusted to your care 

Sparked for justice, truth and sovereign ways, 

Blazing for you to take your rightful place. 

“While revolutionaries as individuals can be murdered, 

You cannot kill ideas,” Sankara proclaimed. 

And so the ideas live on, 

In photos on altars, 

songs of griots,

Every nose on a face, 

Finger nail and hair, 

We need not dispair, 

A riot is rooted in our bone marrow, 

In every hand that tills the soil for tomorrow. 

Child of the earth, 

The mirror awaits your reflection. 

Will you rise as they rose, 

To see yourself not as a shadow, 

But as the light that leads the way 

As Guavara’s on the path did - in the time before Ché For the hero is not found in the monument alone— Heru is found in you 

- in photos and bones, 

River offerings, 

grains under crossroad stones. 

What you hold in your heart is what you see… 

what you see - is what you seek… 

Will it be the agenda of your lineage or of the enemies, what you seek is what manifests. 

Not with your eyes but in your hearts profess. 

Desperation & fear makes for distraction, conflicts and contests, Not something to want in your heart. 

Focus on the true specs,

Even if they tell us our youth 

Are on the spectrum, 

While making us a spectre, 

What’s best is not just what’s good 

but what’s correct, 

Emotions aren’t the GPS, 

Logic is the map, 

Emotions are the unleaded 91 of the Spiritual guided, 

Even the blind who isn’t looking, 

sees by prophetic vision - attuned to feel. 

Materialistic logic - a theory that steels our magestic dreams, 

Keeps us working in the plantation and away from sweating for our own ancestral fields.