Monday, 2 March 2009


I stand in my ocean of duties
flexing my tiring muscles.
Perhaps I can cause a ripple or two
to soothe my failing pride.

I came wielding catapults and stones
only to meet Osamas and Bushes.
Life is not war, my friends.
Life is a whooshing World War.

They deliberately handed me a broken bow
so they can happily watch me
flee or fail or fall afield
amidst tanks and trucks and bombs.

But they lie bad.
I know who I am.
I am hewn out of scars and wounds
of many victories over many millennia.

Nearly failed is not failed.
True we’ve lost battles
but we’ve never lost a war.
Life is the whooshing war I will win.

How Do You Uproot 500 Years of Racism?