The Room in the Elephant

The sound of trumpets
Disturbed my sleep
Calling me to awaken
To my African experience of welcoming warmth
Receptive and responsive –
That pink-handed generosity
Accepting my childhood for what it was
Despite appearances to the contrary
Where homicidal desperation prevailed
Spreading Terror deep and wide
Through colonial Hell

Where did that call come from
So many years later
In this land of privileged conceit?
Belying appearances to the contrary
Where self-indulgence prevails
Spreading false security all around
Like marmalade on buttered toast

It was a call ignored by most –
A statement of the obvious –
Issuing from deep within,
That what most matters
Is what matter cannot be without
Yet, in the hands of Empire Builders
Is ironed out
So as to be
Without a doubt

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