Guest Dragcor Warwick Posted October 18, 2001 Report Posted October 18, 2001 Oh cradle of an ancient people The earth beneath you rocks. Your belly spits up fiends Flying on opiate wings. Insatiable their thirst. Blood! Blood! And blood! Your halcyon a faience, shattered In bullet-rain. Grotesque your children lay Their blood drip down Blackened burnt bricks, Monuments to their rage. Your leaders imbued with hatred Heuristic bats, blinded And deaf! Deaf to the wailing of your women. Childless! Widowed! They dance with the rumblings of the 'shakabula' In attire they splattered with red. Oh ancient people, See how your cradle rocks. Still the baby sleeps? When will this fratricide cease?
Peredhil Posted March 4, 2003 Report Posted March 4, 2003 This was originally posted at Poetry.com by Paulina Mabayoje. It was a Grand Prize Winner. Her entry is here.
Recommended Posts