A man of revolution

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A man of revolution

12 -08 -2019

I know a man who lived his dream in a short  period of time and made outstanding history that shook the world.

 He had no magical wings that flew him from rags to riches, neither did he have  supernatural intelligence that equipped him to be the wealthiest oke but he ate the steel guts of resilience that eventually led him to his crown.

From a filthy village, enslaved with boils of lack, viruses of empty stomach and thirsty throats craving for a drip of pure water - he failed to understand the happenings of time.
Daily and constantly, he would isolate his confusion-withered soul from the masses, cluelessly gaze the silent moon, hoping for undiluted solutions.

This is what bothered the boy: "how has humanity become victims of curse, servants of empty pockets, objects of bed-riddening sicknesses. Moreover, he wanted to know how to solve this error, a tragedic trend that had kidnapped the village of Oman, somewhere in Africa.

His heavy heart petitioned on behalf of his village and forced his watery eyes to gaze the still sky to anoint him to be the one to bring a revolution of bliss.

He found favour in the light of the cool breeze of the night, which without warning fermented his puzzled mind and charged his guts to rise against the status quo.

It was at this wilderness, when he alone, made a covenant with himself to restore the milk and honey of his village. The curse of confusion fled and his chains of inner slavery were lossened by the covenant.

He rose like a victorious warrior, dusted his fears off, wiped his saliva of doubt, stirred his vision, whispered against the timed curse, danced his failures off and returned home as a new baby born.

He was ignited, fuelled with divine zeal to correct the error of his village. Arriving home, his family's wrecky hut almost collapsed at his approach. The soils curled upstream, the wire fence vibrated, the trees whistled, the green plants applauded and bowed before him: the man of revolution.

By his bare hands, he built the deepest well that night, which later released endless flow of milk and honey as well as sweetest sugars.
The following morning, a bulk of financial gods known as investors, crowded his village and compound, desirous to buy milk and honey from his well.

The well later developed the village and promoted the boy to the office of dominative wealth - one which no one on earth could surpus. He is no longer a boy now. He is simply a man of revolution.

By Blessing Mhlanga.

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