Literary Zone

Poetry:Agony of the Fatherland

6 March 2018 at 18:57 | 6535 views

By Kellie Keita, Abidjan, Cote d’Ivoire.

From the east or west, they are all the same; methods diverging but motives akin
Fair is foul and foul is fair Macbethan sorcery proclaims as they bark for our skin
Alas, the battle is won and lost even before we knew we were invaded unfairly
My fatherland has had her trunk slit open and her throat slashed, the head dangling
Her contact with the west bled her nose with kith and kin in millions abducted
Cheap unrefined goods flooded in to mesmerize the covetous psyche of notables
Brother bartered sister; sister bartered brother as vaulting ambition held sway
Centuries of the unsavory human trade brutalized the conscience of some aliens
Dumping the remnant back to my fatherland was a noble cause worth pursuing
Province of Freedom and American President Monroe his name immortalized
Under the guise of rescuers, the aliens soon donned garbs of conquerors
Dismembering my fatherland, different chunks went to various monarchs
As the scramble excited rancour Bismarck in the fray brokered Berlin confab
The game was butchered and quartered into parts as trophies for alien monarchs
Self-appointed these chieftains held our beloved ancestors captive as hostages
Forced labourers, beasts of burden, menial hands our nobles and princes reduced
Mere brats lorded it over our nobles and princes for decades and centuries
The imposed suzerains claimed to be on a civilizing mission but violating the same
Domination and subjection rendered to apathy emasculating our men of valour
Lip-service democracy prevailed shunting aside the elites ,the half-baked enticed
At nominal birth of nations only minions received the nod of the over-lord
Blood and toil attended most labour-rooms of restive midwives ready to scuttle
Full minded were they of a future to prolong remote-controlled domination
The mutation inscribed a new mode full of hope one of self-determination
Alas, three-score years or less down the path show little or no bliss at the helm
Non-aligned were we but cold war terminated we are neither white nor yellow
Turning east or the old west exacts its price too hard to bear for my Fatherland
Remaining in inertia as we stay transfixed accounts for absolutely nothing useful
We can’t play the gluttonous spider’s wish of being present at four locations
We then ask ourselves, Where are our real friends, who will see us through?
The east is as rapacious and acquisitive as the west we have come to reckon
Altruism is only a self-declared mantra but a thin veneer of self-interest bares it
My fatherland then remains totally friendless,deluded and forlorn as the clock ticks.