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BLOOD ON THE BOXES



I was told that time heals every wound
But these sores are fresh through decades
Of the thrust of spears of these filial attachments
With which I shared umbilical cords
With fangs and claws, they charge at me
And I am nothing but defenceless

The earth has refused me refuge
I run to the mountains
But they have refused me from climbing their backs
Monster Mountains sapping the earth’s nutrients
Sole Harvesters of my father’s good
Till their bags be completely full

I was told
We are one family
Peace and happiness is all I seek
I have cast my life in a box
It has to undergo balloting to ascertain it’s worth
It is worth nothing; so it is cast to the dogs


That sink their teeth in my health
They thump around and make death traps on the road
Then make plans for tomorrow in flowing gowns and matching caps
Laughing at the wounds that will never heal
Laughing at my face of death
At another stage rehearsal of casting my life in a box












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