Legs marching in the dirty mud.
Struck against the black sand.
Bullets raining into their heads and stomachs.
Under there burning sun.
Hot and scorching.
Fire! Fire!!
Ordered the office in command.
Women and children,
Running hetter-scetter
In tears and bloodshed.
No safety, no love.
When people of power without uniforms ordered people of uniforms to invade people without power or uniforms.
When people of uniforms burn down our house-shed.
How can we find ourselves in these disaster? And call our home, A home.
Or our country, a country.
When we're rejected by out own brothers.
So we know,
Only God is our own,
Our Saviour, our Home.
For people without power and uniforms.
© MADINAH_WRITES
07.08.2021
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Fragrance From A Black Flower
Poetry#1 in blackpoets This collection of poems is intended to give some account of the conditions in which African oral poets produce their works, and the audiences to which they address themselves. However, even the most summary account of this topic is...
