By
Oumar Farouk Sesay
(For all victims of state-sanctioned violence)
Is this what it is after darkness swallowed the rays of our sun
we grab dusk from the past to darken future sunshine
though we could deploy ensemble of clanking pot and pans
to appease yakuba to redeem our sun from darkness
Is this what it is, after every use of might to abuse rights
An ancient violation is exhumed from the graveyard of abuses
to patent the new abuse for future use with all our might
although the cruelty repressed the better angels of our nature
Is this what it is, after every slaughter of the masses
like pigs in pens, a historical slaughter of the same masses
is tossed in the fray to equate the past to the present
although the slaughter is turning the land to an abattoir
Is this what it is, after wedging rods of lust in the orifices
of our nation’s soul like a rapist
A phallus of a historical penetration is dangled to parallel the rape
although the rape is turning a nation’s womb to a tomb
Is this what it is after noose of injustice had strangled
the necks of our people
A historical bridle once tied on the same neck is brought forth
to justify noosing of a nation’s neck
although the noose is also tied to the napes of our scruples
Is this what it is after every failure of leadership
Past governance flaws are highlighted to blur today’s
faults without counting the tragedy of pitching
failure against failure in a nation’s balance sheet
Is this what it is, after every case of pure hate
a bygone hatred of the same hue is brandished
to justify the hatred and revenge on the masses
although hate is dooming the dream of nationhood
Is this what it is, after every spasm of a dying youth
A historical schism which killed the youths of yesterday
is flung in the bloody gauntlet with disdainful remarks
although the killings could zoom the nation to doom again
Is this what it is, after every eulogy for the dead of today
an unwritten epitaph is written for those killed yesterday
to pitch the past and present into an unending blood bath
although the land is becoming a cemetery of broken hopes
Is this what it is that we must not make it right today
Because those before us made it wrong yesterday
Is this what we are, cogs trapped in a quagmire of an eye for a neck
till everyone is hung on a tree, like lynched victims of Mississippi
Is this who we are, a billboard for the mark of Kane