Thursday, 12 November 2015

Poem accepted by Reuben Woolley's I am Not a silent Poet webzine

On reading about two children under 11 who were raped by soldiers in Sudan

If I were the only little girl
Who was held down
And raped
That would be one too many.

If these two little girls
Whose bodies were split apart,
Their secret, sacred places
Made into raw meat,
Were the only ones,
That would be too many.

I am sinking under
The sewage tide of
Laughing, cheerful men,
With eyes fixed zealously on
Their great tasks,
The wonders they will perform
To make the world in their own image,
While little bodies lie stunned
Under them.
I can’t give up,
Because they don’t.
I have to keep going,
Because they do.

My crone-womb hangs
Like a dry piece of meat
In the bone-bowl of me.
But it speaks in the quietest,
Deepest voice of all.
A whisper that is of the Earth.
That shrieks the rage the outrage
Of us all.
It is our blood that is sacrificed
In this most un-sacred way.

When mothers tramp thousands of miles
To find a safe place for their daughters
And are turned away, traded and discarded,
Again and again.
And they walk on, further.
I, too, must hold on.
Because they do.
I have to remember who I am,
Because they do.

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