My Syrup Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

My syrup

Dipped in syrup
I was born
And have lived
(It is called history)

I can see into one
And recall memories.

A couple and two kids
Are here to visit
The vast land where I live
Once they came for murder
Killed and raped, destroyed
Then called it as they wished
Enslaved elderly and the land
Was given "For you to discover."
Now tongues turn easily to compare:
"Reconcile…Colonialism! "

Therefore I
Laugh with fists in the air
For the peace after years
Colombian

Are they not all the same?