imagine being torn, folded, packed, bagged, <br />transported, exported, then labeled, toxic waste <br />then advertised, an unacceptable commodity <br />imported by mistake. <br /> <br />imagine all that and the blues and the jazz <br />caught me thinking, humming, musing <br />swaying my head like a slave ship <br />and the souls of those burned in the fight called <br /> <br />the Call came like a dreaded disease <br />into my pores possessing my being <br />conjuring the past into the present <br />calling my mute blood to rebel <br />to protest the taste of iron in my mouth <br /> <br />tell them, we cannot suppress our passion <br />mute strong voices of our bruised souls <br />nor bury the anger in our lamentations <br />we shall walk the streets with our warrior drums <br />we shall face the Evening with thundering feet <br />till the church tolls the bell and soldiers the last bugle note <br />to the death, that stirs the thicket of our peace <br /> <br />imagine being torn, folded, packed, bagged, <br />transported, exported, and then labeled, a toxic waste <br />then advertised, an unacceptable commodity <br />imported by mistake<br /><br />Padmore Enyonam Agbemabiese<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/imagine-8/
