After Wiriyamu Village Massacre by the Portuguese

No, go back into your exile, go back quick.
When those Portuguese soldiers abducted
Falencha’s baby quietly strapped on her back
And scattered its precious brain on Falencha’s
Own maize grinding stone, when those soldiers
Grabbed and hacked Dinyero’s only son
With Dinyero herself stubborning watching
Or when they burnt down Faranando in his own
Hut as he tried to save Alefa his senile wife—
Where, where was your hand? Tell me that!
And if you helped Adrian Hastings report
The Portuguese atrocities to humans, where,
Where is your verse? You have no shame!
No, go back until our anger has simmered. 

Jack Mapanje
    

Share this poem

Have a question? Please take a moment to read the guidelines first.
To subscribe, enter your email in the subscription form (menu icon, top right ⇗), or follow this link.
If you enjoy this blog, I'd appreciate anything on my wish list, or you could purchase my latest book, Mbera.
This blog uses Follow.it for email subscriptions and updates.
By subscribing, you may be sharing data with this service.
See our Privacy Policy for details.