Hollow Freedom

This pot,
of liberation and freedom.
Seems like it’s not enough for all of us to feed from.
As few bellies grow round and big from their insatiable greed,
the majority’s skin hangs off their bones and relief from their struggles is all they plead.
They can only chew on the glass of their broken dreams.
Others lie dead, shot in their backs on dusty fields.
This under their liberators iron fist.
The wicked rest;
having pillaged the sea where the poor and vulnerable cast their nets in futile hope.
Dredging up only empty promises of prosperity.
Perhaps justice lies where the bones of our current leaders sink six feet deep.

© Ziphozihle Kati 2011