? ? ? Poem by Tapiwanaishe Pamacheche

If you pierce us, don't we bleed formidable?
If you slap us, don't we feel the pain?
If you rap us, don't we see the crush of dignity and death of divinity?
If you steal from us, don't we feel robbed and betrayed?
If you work us like donkeys, don't we feel the heat of the day breaking bones and clashing our breath?
If you live us in the acres of blacks and circus of death don't we die in the plantation of wheat?
If you drink wine, don't you get drunk and be merry?
If capitalism favour the rich and leave reek and decapivated copse of poverty rotting in the chambers of destitute and acres of grief.
If peasants of any colour growl and live in the rats graves as the Irish famine,
Don't we feel the jab of torture?
We created our own death in the heart of a power,
And the circumstance of our death is so poetic mastered.