A Nation in Labour

The Republic is in labour
pacing the political ward
cursing the colonial midwife
for telling her to push.

Her head is spinning
vision blurred
mind inside out.

She drinks a cup of counterfeit morality
and blubbers a prayer of hope
for the stillborn baby.

The Republic is a headless chicken
with a body that can only flip
and flap in labour.

She curses the future
for coming too soon
clings to a grandfather clock
that’s out of tune
hoping it’ll correct a future
that’s gone askew.


Link to the Italian translation

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