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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