Poetry Pleases: Lady Freedom
Masimba Biriwasha reminds us that the price of freedom is the blood of dead heroes and martyrs.
Lady Freedom,
Finally, when she packed her guns
We couldn’t take it anymore
So we strapped ourselves with the blood
Of the dead heroes
And followed her
Tracking through grenades and riots
That were marked with graves of martyrs
Our battle gave birth to a revolution
Littered with epitaphs
With our bones, the dead heroes arose
Firing missiles at the establishment
That fed its sons and daughters on ramshackle promises
In the morning, she collapsed under the weight
Of pregnant desire to set free the dreams
Of her people
Her dream lives on
For it, we cry out:
“Freedom, O, Freedom!”
Where’s your place, except if
You’re born in the people’s blood
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