The profound story

Living the life of a happy child,
Guess I’m very lucky
Yet
I don’t know how to speak the language of my homeland
Just ask and I’ll say
Yes,
I speak Liberian English.
I understand Krahn and I speak most of it,
But it isn’t my homeland language.
Yeah,
Thanks to war,
I was raised in my birth country Ivory Coast,
But I didn’t discover anything about it.
Yeah,
I say I am a Liberian
But I wasn’t born there,
It’s not my homeland.
It’s my motherland
I don’t blame my mother
For being a victim of war,
I blame war.
If there weren’t war,
She wouldn’t have left her country
She wouldn’t have dropped out of school
Wouldn’t have seen her mama die.
She wouldn’t have gone to a foreign country;
I know she loves her country.
But it was the war.
She needed a place that she would be safe,
To provide what she wanted
For herself and her children.
How am I supposed to blame my mother?
For me not discovering my country,
Learning French
And making so many friends?
I guess she was just protecting me.
It wasn’t her fault that we grew up in a camp,
It wasn’t her fault that I grew up amongst a bunch of Liberians and
didn’t get to see my homeland
It wasn’t her fault that I grew up in an unsafe country which I never knew
It was because of war
I blame Mr. War
Though I never experienced Mr. War directly
I feel like am in the shoe of a person in the war zone.
I hate to see a child cry,
I hate to see a child in war.
I dream of happy life for children.
I want them to live a happy life,
I want them to love their country and not be a foreigner in another country
I want them to make a difference in the world
I want them to be the brave lions
Who fight for peace, love, and compassion.