For the oppressors who pretend to solve the bad situation


Weep My Brother

Father
You struggled to open the door
so that I should have fresh air

Now you stand on the doorway
Until I am hypoxic to death



Poetry by Richard Chongo
Read 605 times
Written on 2007-05-15 at 13:24

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Rob Graber
Apt imagery for political deceit and image manipulation!
2007-05-15