Page 18

The peace given to those departed Traumatised the other kids The very kids who brought to our attention That pounded yam and egusi soup were not suitable packed lunch We are the children of the Narm Whose flesh was picked to the bone by the icy winds Of December when winter took the mercy of the sun away And we cried to our mothers that at least back home we are dying in warmth We are the children of the Narm The dirty stain on the nation’s lapel that couldn’t be washed Off by the laundrymen we called MPs and their detergent of lies The dust under the nation’s rug, The fickle words to thicken someone else’s Manifesto The figurines of never to be manifested dreams but manifested neverachieves We are the children of the Narm Who were in need of doctors, not only for us but for our buildings That coughed up more of their bricks every night. Our buildings that needed surgeons to unblock the clogged arteries of its garbage shoots. We were in need of doctors and surgeons. They gave us spin doctors. We are the children of the Narm The children of Peckham Vietnarm Pecknarm

Profile for Motherlands Zine

ISSUE ONE  

http://www.motherlandszine.com/ pick up a copy at motherlandszine.tictail.com

ISSUE ONE  

http://www.motherlandszine.com/ pick up a copy at motherlandszine.tictail.com

Advertisement