We collect sticks
We are refugees
We walk miles to make charchole
We are employed to carry heavy sacks
We are hungry and care not what’s legal
We need fuel ourselves
We are hoping to feed our children
We are stopped
We fear
We are pushed to the ground
We know what comes next
We are not rapped this time
We just beg for mercy held at gun point
We taste the earth
We are told off
We cry, they fine us
We have no way to pay
We are released but now we can not cook our food
We are dying a slow death
We have no money, no future, no hope
We are the women of the Congo

Posted: Thursday, March 14th, 2013 @ 10:47 pm
Categories: Poems.
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