From my humble bag of flesh
my crystal brown eyes
races from yore see wanton destruction
“That nation is evil thinking God is on its side, ”
My ancestors muse from a past where God hasn’t been born.
“claiming earth shall be free, pillaging everything in its path.
Tis the markets that chain people,
while crying shame as the enshacklement begins;
Magically portrayed as liberators
While children starve to death begging for a Wrigley’s chewing gum”
My eyes watch television and my ancestors nod their heads:
As their voice echoes in my veins, they transport a burning flame in this caving madness:
C – You see the world as a mirror image of You –
I am told am not that
Far from being a consumer
Tribes people remain tribes people in my forlorn specks
You are not me
What will you do when the competition comes along to offer a better freedom than yours?
When they start dumping their ideas of a better day
Offering all sorts of liberation
Are you then to turn a ruthless freedom fighter?
Is this world not big enough for two fighter freers?
Shall there be only one?