When Eyes Refuse To Close
Where power rests
on a bed of roses,
citizens inquisitively lie
on hot beds of ashes
But when citizens
are scotched,
when the hot ashes
are no longer tolerable,
they put on sack- clothes.
They chant war-songs
of sorrow and agony,
as they wave spears.
Bushes around
where the animal is hiding,
are tortured with sticks
that carry big heads
in search of the animal
that snatched the father.
That is the time
the nation’s dogs
bark without biting
the eyes refuse to close
knowing that the time
for reckoning
has struck.
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