Quicksand Of Shame

It all started innocently
A meticulously laid out strategy
Callousness spread evenly on each side
Of a shiny mahogany conference table

They call it Aid
They give, we take
We take because they owe us, we say
They enslaved and killed our people, we say
They colonized us, lapped up the cream
And left us with the dregs, we say
We take to feed the children
We justify the hand held out

It’s rather convenient to be blind
to what we give
When we take what we take
So that now we’re doubly enslaved
Dazedly wondering how we got into this prison
Once colonized by force
We’re colonized yet again by poverty
Behind the scenes they call the shots
As we cut ourselves over and again
With a double-edged sword sharpened
By our open palm

When we can’t live on the fruit of our land,
Our sweat, our taxes
When we don’t trust the toil of our hands
And they, of ‘budget support’, ‘Africa Aid’, ‘Relief’
Have a fistful of money held out
Then we can’t possibly make the decision
To keep our people employed
To run our railways, our corporations,
Our telephone system
When they scream privatize, privatize!

When the ‘donors’ withhold and threaten to withdraw
We shake in our too small shoes
Wondering what we’ll eat
Our hearts in panic palpitate, heaping fear upon fear
For we know that soon we will be squatters in our country
And our children will carry on the legacy
Of that outstretched hand
Sink desperately in the quicksand of shame


PoP © 19 July 07