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Poetry Pleases: Wood

Masimba Biriwasha's profound poem concerns the greatest evil: the rule by force of one country over another.

My foundation is of wood
- the thick, colonial type.

It screams hollow when I step on it
It shines smooth when I sweep it.

It reveals stains within its layers
Stains that rise like smudges of black blood.

Its foundation is a harvest of thorns
Its skin is painted with wrinkles of wasted years.

Its veins are as aligned as a famished choir
Singing disjointed choruses of oppression.

Yesterday I scrubbed it till it shone in the Sun
Then it exploded carrying me within its soft embrace.

Towards a new leap of faith
Towards freedom - O, sweet freedom.

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