I was told this was home
I was given it on silver plater
They fail to tell me that I would have to steal it
Words written on paper was crafted beautifully
Penmanship to die for
That was it…
The hidden message
To die for
I can not take what is not mine
Can land really be mine
The oil and coal pillage from mines
Stepping gingerly on well placed land mines
I want to have that slice they promised
A pie with fruit filling
Instead of the maggot filled circular tin
Given to us with a deceptive grin
We can give back the land
Then where will we go
Back to a continent and nation we do not know
This is now our land, our home
We should be proud
Making cities out of concrete and stone
Instead we bare the mark of a land that we stole
Simple…but so emotional. Good one, Fia.
Thank you , Atticus;))
A wonderful piece of poetry Fia. This one hits home, literally.
Thank you, Vision;))
Yeah…so much said in this. My daughter talks of not belonging anywhere. She’s not Mexican enough for that side of her genealogy and not white enough for the other. Never accepted in either. This cataloging of labels in a stolen land is mind boggling and saddening to me
Powerfully penned, Fia. This excellent write tells it like it is my friend. Amazingly done as always. Appreciate you, cuz.
Damian