Look at them walk with their snowy heads raised high,
Pipe between their teeth or drinking away the day,
Talking about us as if they have hearts of gold,
They built the house with sand and straw,
And filled their pockets and mouths with the cowries,
Their conscience is that of wood, their hearts that of stone,
Now the wind is blowing from all corners,
The thatch is breaking off, the sand is pouring down,
They say we didn’t maintain the building well,
Ask them for me “Was the material strong enough?”
“Can they vomit back the cowries they ate?
But wait, should we also be like them?
And loot the chest that belongs to the whole village,
So that our children walk nude and cold?
Is our conscience sharp enough, can it pierce our hearts?
Can our hearts be gold, can our minds be pure?
By: E.M. Eghan