Nesta, Sing of the War

On an island basked in sand, water and sun grew a mighty boy who would one day wield words as weapons. Schooled by the wayward streets and the uplifting lessons of the spirit, this boy transcended into man.

Bred of humility and motivated by humanity, Robert sought out to speak truths, to urge brethren to invest in one another. The windows leaning into his inner strength grew weary, burning from the raging fire of inequality and the smoking decimation left behind in its wake. Robert sought out an awakening of words, a way to reach out and inspire those caught up, mystified and unaware. He reached for a tool, six strings. He countered it with a companion. Burrowed deep, beyond flesh, the arteries and bone, a voice spewing out groomed intellect. Accumulated knowledge with no claim to designated degrees fostered and bestowed upon by historically ivy institutions. A soul connected to that of life's people, speaking accuracies of life, labour, love, devastation and injustice. Coupling energies, Robert revitalized human query and concern. Nestled in words translated, Robert spoke only one true language, that of humanity. Urging women to pull back the tears, activists to stand up, and people everywhere to remain mindful of the war. A man once roaming Trench was now returning to the world, engaging in its re-education. His words moved beyond boundaries, crumbled well established and fought over walls. The people listened as the rastaman chant, "'dis a war." Years later, still ringing true in accordance to contemporary ills, the words rage forcefully. The radios tune, the televisions flicker. The viewers, some actively concered , others cold and unnatached. Minutes into hours, days into weeks. And as inspiration fades slowly, left unattended are his words rusted over as the war maintains its course.