Bonnetvanture T Asiimwe

Rookie (25Jan 1986 / Western Uganda, EastAfrica)

The Slaughtetred Was Not My Brother - Poem by Bonnetvanture T Asiimwe

Don’t open your mouth to mourn
The drastic death of those riots in town
I have also heard
The mutilations of the stone-hearted honorable,
For the slaughtered wasn’t my brother

The shipwreck at the lake,
And the crush of a groaning bus
With wooden brakes was not my business.
Who cares?
Didn’t it belong to one of those fat men on top?
Did you hear any traffic flies sneeze?
Yes, it happened just outside my hut
And I heard the shrieking and moaning
Of poor innocent mortals drained blood-
Seeing the slow pain of death.
For me, I was just praying
That it would not roll over
My barricaded paper walls.
Then when the cries died, I slept soundly
For the slaughtered was not my brother.

The fares from my door post to my neighbors’ is
JUST a million shillings.
Not put to affect me
For I roved the jungle when I was young
And can wonder two hundred kilometers
Without taking in a breath.
You just milk them dry like silly cows
The surviving few shall slaughter
One another for a shilling
And I will be contented with my banana booze
For the slaughtered will not be my brother.

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, December 12, 2009

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