With a massive pressure water gun,
That is how they want us
To succumb; with force
They think we will bow down or run!
A 1600s massacre was the maker;
A tradition built by bloodshed,
Yet giving Thanks then: Not Enough!
Now again! Acre upon acre upon acre
Must be given, must be shaken
To make way for
More lives to perish.
More ground must away be taken.
More and more people ought to know
That the colonists conquistadors,
Nestled greedily in government,
The descendants of immigrants long ago
Have a Divine Right
Over all Ancestral lands
To build what they please,
Without regard to the heart-ripped plight,
Without a smear of respect
For a people (American too),
Who lived and prospered long
Before the authority tower arose erect.
This is the world of our daily creations,
The core crackles like the amber
Nuggets of a sinister dying fire,
Living under the shadow of our celebration.
One company goes down; another one rises
These are pawns. Our true opposition.
An entity with resources and power is
Silently present, offering no compromises.
We must protest against the root,
That spreads iniquities,
While those perched at the top
Amass and take all of the loot,
And leave us wondering why
Can’t WE ever win!
We object, we scream,
We die, we yell, and we cry.
But we never stop to reflect
That any injustice is just a splinter
Of an already damaged system;
Which, to its people, has never been direct!
Carla Luzmila Pozo Insuasti is a writer and archeologist. Read more of her writings at the Empty Page Blog http://inkquillsandblood.blogspot.com