the weeping ladies

in my dream

three women in white

sit by the water

weeping crying the worlds tears

wrapped in white cloth their tears

form the waterway

it flows as far as the eye can see

they cry silently

for the places the paint has

peeled back & we see what

lies behind the illusion

suffering want need

in the shadow of opulence

degrees of poverty beyond

comprehension give thanks

you are not an orphan eating from

a garbage dump if you are be grateful

for the waste of others you could

be drinking gray water if you

are strong enough to make it

to the polluted stream in my

dream the ladies in white keen

a low lonely sound full of misery

as bodies fall dust rising covering remains

bodies shrivel eating themselves in the absence of

nourishment or come into the

world mis-formed a result of war

on the body of the earth reflected

in the twisted bodies of children

destined to be beggars with empty cups

the ladies in white cry the tears

the poor do not have time to cry

they cry for Palestinian children

who only have rocks to fight off terrorist

they cry for the babies living off ramen and hot chips

in buildings filled with lead rats roaches & the smell

of dead dreams rotting all round

they cry for the babies too hungry to pay

attention waiting for prison cells no where

else to hold their broken aspirations they

weep for children without parents who

struggle though chaos storing up animosity

that will spill out in ideology sooner than later

they wail for refugees separated from the land

family hope eating resilience that has gone rancid

they sob for the earth itself someone must

they grieve the death of honey bees the

change of climate the pollution that circles

the globe mostly they weep for our blindness

our feigned innocence

or well developed ignorance

our comfortable complacence

our imminent demise at

the hands of wolves who

don’t care whether or not

you know you are sheep

About Ayodele Nzinga, MFA, PhD

I create; therefore I am.
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