Veteran Poet - 1,837 Points (Dogon Kurmi)


Go and tell it to them
Or to whoever is disturbing this streamflow
Tell them, the water downstream has dried up
And mothers are waiting in mournful visages, with empty pitchers in hand-
They have herbs to boil for their feverish babies

Tell them
Since when that government-sent beetle scratched our roads and died in the process, it did not resurrect since then
Now our hard-earned sandals cannot last their supposed span
Tell them- the Ones we voted for,
The storms has uncapped the two classrooms we built, now the sun haunts its heat upon our children
Boys and their females have to learn the other way- sitting under a tree, adding and subtracting numbers in a song-like counts of their fingers and toes
while the scorching Sun crosses the sky in vicious search

Tell it to them
The Ones smiling 'hope' and 'change', whose posters we loyally crucified on our walls
The melodies of campaign promises have faded
And their uncovered piles of promises still lie unfulfilled
Or do you think feeding morsels to kids in decrepit schools is progression?
Tell them
We sit here, at the square where they last summoned us, the place where the disused rail line parts in two
We, the Praying pray-ers
We, advocators for change- Tired of the sameness of our country
Are here in same number, waiting.

Topic(s) of this poem: democracy, art

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 3, 2015

Poem Edited: Saturday, February 6, 2016

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