Political Picnic (poem)
- 1 Post
- Age 17
i roll up a rug and carry it on my back for the picnic.
a picnic with sandwiches of the truth
in a rich brown bread
encrusted by beautiful brownness
of flavourful fillings.
i sit on a rug beside a group of revolutionary spirits
rug weaved by the strong threaded sisterhood
third eyes awake to our Third World cultures
angering minds and flourishing intelligence
each mind, alike, seated on a throne of a brighter future
far from restraint.
i opened the neatly packed bun of my sandwich
and inside was a burnt piece of meat
dropping flecks of colonial history
i reached my hand in to remove the meat
and my hands soaked up red,
the red blood cells carried subjugated history textbooks,
the white blood cells fought for liberation.
a slice of cheese,
a catalyst of strength.
the milky undertones imbue power.
a body holds itself together like a fence,
sailing towards a stronger tomorrow.
the patterned lettuce reminding me of
thick accents and hands of henna,
a fold hiding
the preservation of identity.
at last came the cake.
a glazed cake tasting sweet,
it was the taste of freedom.
Amara B. Waseem