By Stephanie Mann
His eyes have witnessed things that history forgot, the footprints of a time past dipped in struggle. He can recall his people when they were once wise and free, times now will make this reality hard to believe.
Because his people have been exploited and stole, marketed on the auction block, families torn apart, A broken mother’s heart and the children she born are met with such scorn, it’s like the tears have created grooves, these salty streams that are worn.
The times they keep on changing, but something’s remain the same. A generation that have lost their name blindly looking for the fame, they have sold their self for the cost of living in someone’s distorted fantasy trying to achieve more to increase the travesty. Candidly his people rather monkey shine for demented minds walking over each other just to get to prime time. Talking loose, walking right into a noose because their ignorance blinds them and they refuse to uncover the truth.
The watchman grows weary as each generation turns into the next, the curse of the mother and fathers dangle carelessly around their necks, constantly vexed by anything that can get under their skin, so in love with the money, drugs, and gin. Living in a mental prison trying to invite others in, and misery loves company so the whole things begin again, and again, and again, and this process seemingly has no end.
The Watchmen gets old, he keeps the history of his people, trying to see the greatness that they refuse to see, acknowledge and respect as their collective history.
Time wants to forget the watchman because he has a special kind of sanity one closely tied to history one that bridges generations beyond the sea. Their language and their sense a self has become the casualty, but the watchman keeps on watching because at anytime his people will awaken and come to see with clarity, that the time for consciousness is now and it’s so much bigger than you and me.