Wednesday, 9 September 2009

Day 4 - Poems for Gani

They chopped our hands off

Leaving us no fist to throw

We sit, vision-sick, draping the sun with tears

Waiting for village chiefs to voice our ache

Though they've connived and delivered

Their lips to them who eat our hearts out

So when the nation leaps into wandering

There is no chief's lip to straighten her path

Just this volunteer guide with running mouth

His lips won't stop, as he maps a tongue-agenda

Breaking their silence again, again, and again

1 comment:

  1. nice poem. the political tone is remarkable.

    ReplyDelete

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