Haiti, When Will the Chains End?
You bled, Haiti—
not from your sins,
but from theirs.
1994 they came, not to heal,
but to haunt.
To wrap democracy in boots,
and silence in oil-drenched contracts.
America—
not a land,
but a machinery of ruin.
You did not restore—
you erased.
You did not rebuild—
you ravaged.
You took a sacred island
and tore it from within.
In the name of liberty,
you planted despair.
In the name of order,
you burned futures.
Your touch is a curse.
From Congo to Kabul,
from Libya to Port-au-Prince,
you leave behind ash
and policy papers
signed with blood.
And Haiti—
once the fire that burned empires—
now whispers under rubble.
But whispers are seeds,
and one day,
they rise.
The world watches.
The angels turn their backs.
The soil remembers.
Let the day come
when your empire falls,
and the children of Haiti
dance again
beneath a sky
no longer haunted by drones.
Copyright © Chanda Katonga | Year Posted 2025
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