Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Love between guns and slow starvation

Often wonder how love plays out in our town
forgotten in the margins of a nation that has
nothing to do with us, because a love like ours
wouldn't survive, it depends on regular conversations,
a coffee passed around, the mundanity of reading
side by side in a library,
In our town, the public library was burnt by a violent mob
and it was never fully restored
It's been a month since the goods were blocked
from reaching us, the nation didn't cry fowl because
we are not part of the national imagination,
that makes it easier for them to kill us,
like flies, with so consequences, year after year
There are lines in ATMs, there are lines in petrol pumps,
And there is no place for love here,
We barely manage to survive
If you aren't killed by a bullet,
you die standing in line for money or food
And yet, despite the burden of history,
and the cruely of politics,
they tell me people fall in love here too.
One can only wonder what promises they make
to each other, how does love stand to fare
between guns and slow starvation?

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