Title: Coloniser
by Britta from Wales | in writing, poetry
On the eve of my independence
Auspicious ideals and new seals
I was found face to face with a challenge
In the shape of thousands of little, trivial flies
Occupying my promised land, my autonomous sighs
One means one, not thousands
The strongest one's wishes will fight
The first were hard
Their invisible blood on my hands burnt
What would Gandhi think?
I lost track of time
Chasing, wasting, stalking
Some of them tried to run
But suffocated in the gases of human despair
For a split moment in time
All attention was turned to the fair
What a prudent stride
I remembered, back in nine
Years of life
Perfume and my hand killed another
Species so ripe
The captivating sense of success
At the sight of bodies
And now again, countless bodies
Miniature corpses all over
Stains on my curtain
My way to the world
Don't you dare make my passage
Dirty
Little
...
Nevermore could they make use of land
MY promised land
Acting against my own principles, human nature, history
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