Not I With This Torn Shirt
They call here,
Province of Mud!
Province of flood!
Who are the magnificent here?
Not I with this torn shirt
but they, in their white mansions
by the trench of blood!
I tell you
this is no magnificent province
no El Dorado for me
no streets paved with gold
but a bruising and battering for self preservation
in the white dust and grey mud.
I tell you and I tell no secret -
now is the long past time for worship
long past time for kneeling
with clasped hands at altars of poverty
How are the mighty slain?
by this hammer of my hand!
by this anger in my life!
by this new science of men alive
everywhere in this province!
thus - are the mighty slain!
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Comments about this poem (Not I With This Torn Shirt by Martin Carter )
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