whip

“Perhaps you’re a slave to your own idea of yourself.”

– D. H. Lawrence


Heard the white people steal

land, children, rights, nights

so I don’t steal.

Heard the white people grab

like forgiveness died,

so I don’t grab.

The scarecrow dressed in white

has so much revenge to do to do

in the lost races that dress

all colours to do to do

I can’t buy that story either.

It sounds like a whip changing hands

and petrifies my lungs again and again

with the sadness of cold people

gone lonely among the crowds.

I believe in that smile we hide in our eyes

with our pandemic covered mouths,

that smile

that smile.

Published by chameleoniantimes

Chameleonian Times, works by Helene Vanderhulst

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