Chanda Katonga Poet Free verse

Mirror of a Nation

They say, Sarkozy is guilty.
He took Gaddafi’s gold,
money wrapped in desert dust,
blessing from a man they later called a tyrant.

But I ask,
is he a thief—
or merely a mirror of France herself?

For centuries,
France has taken gold not from one man,
but from nations—
from Africa’s belly, from Asia’s bones,
from the hands of the hungry
to feed her shining towers.

They call it diplomacy,
they call it civilization,
but theft with a white glove
is still theft.

Gaddafi is gone,
his blood dried beneath NATO skies,
but the oil still flows,
and the empire still eats.

Now Sarkozy stands alone—
a scapegoat in a velvet court,
while the real robbers dine in silence,
their pockets lined with centuries of sorrow.

He is not the crime—
he is the confession.
And France,
the judge and the sinner both,
stares at her reflection
and calls it justice.

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