The Republic is in labour
Screaming
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