Blood Storm Poem by Shavaniel Mclean

The national flag dangles like ragged drapes
stain by something like squashed grapes
oh brother Samuel
you have won
loosing battles
for your children are still been slaughtered
like cattles
Oh uncle Bob,
what would you do
when the music dies?
When mothers weep and baby cries
OH JAMAICA
Can't you see a cemetry in a driving bus
For the purple black rain is upon us
Can't you see sword tongues
splitting families apart
for the storm IS NOT WITH BONAPARTE
The storm is in the workplace
vested in our tools
The storm is at the nave of our schools
forgetting how we were shipped and bought
forgetting how their Heroes fought
They rip out each other tripes
Cruelsome in the name of gang tribes
Grasping it, squeesing out all its life
then puncture the heart with a knife
causing a fountain of rain
-wait, you think this is pain
then they seize the poor chickens
from the cradles
-and the rest, you wish it is fables
With each crack of a bullet
a brother bites the dust
With each new day the earth's bed rust
With every sound of sirens the nurse runs
With each day bodies tons by tons
yes!
the politician is all for himself
climbing up the toadstool like an elf
Trying to make it
at the expense of others
poor leadership, neglect his brothers
The sun is hiding under the shadows while JAMAICA. grazes on the barren meadows
The purple-black fountain is nearly dry
Sam and Bob, twice they will die
Anansi! Anansi can't you see
why stay here?
its better to flee