Best Imperialism Poems
I know a place where imperialism is hated
So much because majority people don't enjoy
From that system.The place is called,
"Africa"...Where many people praying for its death daily.
I know a place where racism is a popular song,
Majority people speaking about racism here and there
That place is called" South Africa." Majority big
Companies & farms own by some people of same race.
I know a place where tribalism is like musics.
Tribal conflicts rise most times in certain countries,
That place is called "Africa." Most masterminds
Of those conflicts and other troubles are outsiders
May 26/2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored
by Edward Ibeh
Chosen tlitle: I KNOW A PLACE
Someone tells people what they should be
And they nod without hesitation
Slaves of alien mentality
Like the crave for fad and fashion
The sphere of modern imperialism
Is far reaching to invade human mind
Chauvinism, ethnocentrism
Puppets played from behind
Your country has laws
freedom and rights
that lead to the courts
who settle up fights
You think it’s a given
yet see it unfair
determined and driven
but going nowhere
A victim of racism
keeps you beneath
prevented by sexism
seeking relief
being gay is illegal
in the land of Qatar
women ain’t equal
put behind bars
Issue ultimatum
as if it’s our place
try and persuade them
it’s all in poor taste
We used to invade them
back in the day
a land they’ve retaken
to get their own way
But now we are forcing
the way of the west
without our armed forces
because we know best
We had no right
to rule over them
this time we’re polite
as we do it again
It isn’t our place
it never will be
so as for poor taste
how stupid are we
Beat the drums; aye, beat the drums!
Make them go stark raving mad—
These likes of Emperor Jones. 1
The criminals' courts play house.
Adzes don't cut their own tails. 2
Where are Clinton, Bush, and Trump? 3
'We' are the people, the mob. 4
'We' are judges; 'we' punish.
They should be ripped limb from limb.
Peaceful rallies will not do.
The criminals we'll tear up
On the streets across the globe.
Over!
1.14.2024
1 See The Emperor Jones, a short play by Eugene O'Neill.
2 A Persian adage
3 Three of the infamous slaughterers of the Bosnians, Afghans, Iraqis, and Syrians
4 See "I am the People, the Mob” by Carl Sandburg.
No comments, please!
Giggles and chuckles flutter in the meadows,
Prancing ponytails, peekaboo under the tree's shadows,
Protected below the blanket of the quiet sky,
A realm of peace, a paradise to the eye.
Blood that drenched the earth for so long,
Wars waged for reasons all wrong,
Lives took by the swish of a sword,
Reason and truth are entirely ignored.
Countless sacrifices gave the gift of peace,
A dream that was hard to believe.
Upholding the values of freedom and liberty,
A vow to protect them until eternity.
Daddy no longer goes to wars,
Mummy doesn't wait for him at the doors,
A battlefield has ceased creating orphans,
Innocent no longer killed by the shot of guns.
Parents don’t send their sons to battle,
Young soldiers are not slaughtered as cattle,
Imperialism by the powerful is not tolerated,
Sovereign borders are always respected.
The politics of hate is completely dispelled,
Value of human life and liberty upheld,
Humans are not judged by the colour of their skin,
Opportunities for all to compete and win.
A world paved towards progress and prosperity,
Rejecting the age-old tradition of disparity,
Uniting to create a glorious tomorrow,
Crushing together all misery and sorrow.
Brothers and sisters of the world hold hands,
From the deserts of Africa to the Asian lands,
Restoring peace for the generations to come,
The orchestra of peace played with a strum.
One country controls an another is colonization, This process of power leads to imperialism, Is it benefitting our mother nation?, Modern thinkers feel it as an act of barbarism.
Indians were nearly 200 years under the crown rule, Was it a period of massive economic stagnation? We can't catch fish in a confused pool, Once, in the world, Colonialism had become a fashion.
It is the cousin of the social evil, slavery, We have to mould our nation's destiny, It is the right time to show our bravery, And we have to follow our ancient ancestry.
Anglo-Indian is reflecting the history of colonization,
Social evils are stopped during British rule, Introduction of English education is its persuasion, Was the concept of coloniality is a rule or mis rule?.
Colonialism had given birth to the middle class obviously, Who became the pioneer of modern industrialization really, Colonial rule is a curse or boon to some countries surely,
It acted transparency like a transparent glass clearly.
I was born in a banana republic,
Between the carnivorous chains of Françafrique,
In an open-air dumpster,
Where tyranny, barbarity, and savagery speak with arrogance.
I am perfumed with all the nauseating scents of misery.
I grew up under the honeyed speeches of necktied oppressors,
Their swollen pockets vomiting development aid.
They painted the walls of despair UN blue,
While our starving bellies served as ballot boxes.
My tongue is a battlefield
It was cut, stitched back, trained to sing the masters’ symphonies.
I speak French like a trauma articulated,
With the pain of my color since the first slave trades.
My struggle, a reminder of the invasion, an inheritance of batons from the Caribbean plantations.
I saw dictators blessed by chancelleries,
Oil traded for diplomatic silence,
Mines bled dry by hands gloved in elegance,
And mass graves hidden beneath bilateral agreements.
I am what they call human resource,
Exportable, exploitable, erasable at will.
I was born where dignity is sold by the kilo,
And where the future fits in a punctured boat at dawn on the Mediterranean.
I was born where the future fits in a punctured boat at dawn on the Mediterranean.
Where a passport is a burden, not a key.
Where one sells their skin to organ merchants
To buy a pixelated mirage of Europe.
I saw my mother weep silently over deportation slips,
My father break his back in open-pit mines of the cradle of humanity,
I learned to read in the pamphlets of the defiant,
To count on my fingers the promises unkept.
School, a factory of stillborn dreams.
Healthcare, a market where cancer is sold in tainted doses.
Justice, a rumor, an insult whispered
Between two power cuts and three police blunders.
I am the child of fake independences,
Of tailor-made constitutions stitched for insatiable gluttons.
I was born without inheritance, save for
This rage accumulating like sand under the skin.
They called me delinquent, migrant, underdeveloped,
But I am the living archive of their beautified crimes.
I am the raw product of their refined markets,
The shattered mirror they flee, for fear of seeing their own barbarity within.
When everything is torn away from you,
when the tapestry of your life is unraveled thread by thread,
what is yours to hold?
Your name,
the one with a cultural meaning that has become heavily shadowed,
is not yours anymore.
That was one of the first things they replaced.
Your native language is not yours, either.
Seclusion and shame are now the price to pay for speaking your mother tongue.
Your clothing is not even yours,
all garments of a foreign land.
They are constricting and unfamiliar.
Your education is no longer yours,
as they've changed the school system to only serve them.
You are left with nothing and cannot hold on to anything.
The tapestry has been ripped to shreds and is thought to be beyond repair.
How could you maintain your sense of identity,
when they proclaim it's not yours anymore?