Tags
Britain, British, childhood, Colonialism, Empire, Humanity, identity, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, postmodern, satire, South Africa, South African, wordplay, writing
WAKE UP, DAMIAN!
Wake up, Damian!
wake up
you have been living
your puppet dream
and, to be brutally frank,
you are a puppet as
much as anything
with springs
there are tunes from
times of old you
were force-fed as, and with
your medicine
your childhood
world
populated by devices and
stories and strange imaginings
in which you
were always Aeneas
hero of legend, defeating
all enemies
conquering, leveling the land
ready for
Empire
and you are still
in your own little Empire
little Empire
of denial which
finds itself speaking as you
for you
telling you what
to say
even
when you profess
to yourself, to the world
to those
these fantasies have
worst offended
that you are master of language
creature of balance, promoter
of truth and harmony
so enlightened that it hurts
so much
upstairs in
that room of maps and theories
that it hurts
will never
stop hurting
no apology
going to cut it
no water under the bridge
going to fix it
for who knows in that flow
what ghosts
what suffering
the waters
uncovering about to
disabuse
the bedtime story you
tell yourself
their nightmare to
get washed up too
wake up, Damian
for God’s sake wake up
I’m here
and talking to you.