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My Back!

My Back!



My back is a farmland

It has been ploughed and hoed

Since time began,

And the Might Warlord Southbound,

Stretches his hand

To willfully earn the sweat of my glands!

Likewise, my thighs are

Repeatedly threshed,

Infest my womb 

To yield new villein zealots,

So when it suits,

To replace the old flesh.


Water has never been an issue

Inside me deep rivers run through the tissues.

The problem, my hands being manacled,

unlike the boss,

Unable to perform deft miracles,

Thus, in the pool of my own backyard, that is my back,

I keep drowning and hit the murky ground.

The baron does not care a farthing

I live or die

He has succedanea when I goby.


The farmland being my back

Granted, though it is well taken care of by the ducts

I have never been able to touch, see

Nor nourish myself

With the harvested products.


I am constantly told,

I am a slave everywhen, as I was born then,

The chains of bondage, as yet

have not been broken.


It is time to stop the pain,

But it is all in vain, 

I am octogenarian,

Unsurprisingly in decline,

There is little that can be done!


I need to pass on

The bandolier and baton

To the Tigarus youth 

That of the North and South

If they take the oath;

The struggle to carry on;

So as to tighten the noose;

And break the neck of the ዲያብሎስ,

Still running  loose;

And bury his rotten foot soldiers;

The Carnivore vultures;

A Stain that they are, dark spots;

On once a promising troth,

Their mothers curse giving birth!


Temesgn Kebede



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