The Song of Canaan
By: Edith Knight Magak
Where
is the wrath of the oppressor?
Where
are they who
injured, snared, and captured
us.
Where
is the rod of the tormentor?
Where
are they who
flogged, pierced and clobbered
us.
Where
are they who
like pottery- mercilessly shattered us!
like chalkstone-mercilessly crushed us!
while we cried, gasped and panted
like women in childbirth.
Where,
Are they who
lifted clubs against our members,
on our head and in our mouth.
pounded us back to sender,
the boots of the boys in blue.
Like boiling Sulphur- our tears stream.
In the streets it’s all a blast,
raging fury- rampant fire.
The city turns to crust,
like rubble-goes down with us.
Are our oppressors these
Who now mumble out their speech
from the dust where they lay?
Licking the dust at our feet
dreading, weeping and begging
us.
Are our tormentors these
Who shroud as we blaze
like flaming fire?
Begging us to stop
They are! They are!
We won’t! We won’t!