A Rain Cloud is a Ballot box
Of our unanswered prayers.
It’s the evening news bulletin
In the living room of our fears.
Of blood-stained headlines
And men without heads walking
The thin lines of poverty.
Today’s weather forecast
Says the sky will rain bodies
Of men
Dying of thirst
a scattered thunderstorm
Of fathers who could not provide
For their families in the famine.
It’s becoming all too familiar
Wiping innocent blood off
Corporate windshields
Multi-billion
Dollar operations while Earth floods
Like a dirty sink in a hair salon
In this harsh climate, both
a prediction and a curse.
Brothers whose alluvial bones we sucked
Water out of like sugarcane,
There is a kind of geometry to suffering.
Black and brown crops and corpses
Blowing in the wind.
Mothers with cracked nipples
All splattered on the pavement
of political promises
We plant each of our bloodied limbs in soil.
Hoping that food will grow between the elbows
Of our sisters’ hopes.
While first world leaders seed fund
pollution.
They ignite the fires of advancement
Only to leave
Africa in the smoke of retribution.
Responses
Beautiful ❤️❤️❤️