They say, complaining,
"there is no hope for the younger generation".
They shake their heads, waiting
and rest their palms beneath their chins, watching.
But they are the ones that failed to place the hope in the hearts of the young.
The young are desperate,
seeking answers to life in dark places,
when they were supposed to show us the light.
They are the ones that hold the blame.
;
We say, complaining,
"this life is hard
and we don't want to see another day".
We live our lives behind screens
and sleep in the folds of ignorance.
We cover ourselves in pity, still shivering,
and rest our heads on fruitless dreams.
But we are the ones to drive the world,
the ones that failed to lit the flame.
The old are tired,
tired of what they've done and seen,
tired of their own ways.
They don't know it,
but they want the liveliness we have
and the bounce tucked under our heels.
They want the spark in our eyes
and our carefree nature.
;
The young are tired,
tired of feeling uncertain and helpless,
tired of the world
that they have yet to know.
They don't know it, but they wish for wisdom
and a certain open-minded guidance.
They want their dreams to be tangible,
for them to be real.
Both want what they don't have,
so we must help each other.
We must stop complaining.
YOU ARE READING
Chronicles of a Nigerian American
PoetryA lil poetry for your soul, to empower, uplift and inform. It entails what it's like to be a black girl in America. The poems are not in any particular order, skip around as your heart may desire. ****Picture in cover is not my art
