Politics Poem by Paul Andrew Bourne

I sat in my homeland
just looking at the gods’ majestic creations
in amazement

when a voice muttered
“Look to the other side! ”

It was then that I understood
‘That all men are not created equally’,

for a black expression was kept
struggling against the winds
without that proud ancestral stride

All that’s theirs' recycled promises

food waters not the thirst for the same place,
everything offered them was for the belly’s needs
and, that heats thunderous hurt.

What encompass its experiences but
scars, shackles, suppression and inadequacies?
This is a return to the old gods,
an existence, which spelt travail:
a confiscated mass,
a land of weep,
no pattern of joyous kinds.

Where are its leaders?
You their gods have coined them segregation!
Can’t you package them opportunities
without that note of prerequisites?

I looked, saw the naked expression
tumble in the perfect space,

Can there be that change?
that it may once again rise!
Rise with free spirits
Moreover, hide not in freedom’s hope;
but be the god of Its tomorrow!