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Vetoes and Votes & now Sanctions

If you do, you will hear from “Mekelle”
Who will hunt you while dancing on the Ukulele
Or from “Santim”, Ambassador from oppression
Who will induct you to U.S. freedom of expression
Bringing Derg’s Ethiopian friends
His Shaleka Uncle renewing contacts
Or from Zemede, bringing a tyrant’s omen
 To promise back the gold taken from Roman women
Or from the son of “Bashai” economic expert
 Running after escapees from the Sinai Desert
Or from Salih Omar, the Nairobian
Hitchhikes to Kenya after General Hadish Efrem
Or from Peter My Grace indulgent in Germany
Bergs auditioning for attention in Burgundy
 

In My Defence…

I call on the Red Sea…

Saltier with tears of many

I call on the mountains… witnesses

…as a whole generation flees

I call on the Sahara sand

…soaking up dehydrated blood

I call on the Mediterranean

…the final resting place

Of the retched yet unaccounted

And still that is half my story

                                                                                                              I call on the walls of EraEro

                                                                                                                   I call on the dungeons of Nakura

                                                                                                                           I call on the container cells of Adi Abeyt

 

 

Death

If death is the end then what is the beginning?

Birth?

But didn’t I exist long before I was born?

In eternal plan...

In the hope of my ancestors

In the plans of my parents

In the aspiration of the previous generation

In the realisation of the forth coming generation

 
Remember my chains

When you turn off the light at night …
In your warm and cozy bed… the love of your life at your side
The children safely tucked…their lights dimmed…

….Remember my chains…

During offering time…before the tabernacle…
As praises rise as the brethren gather
When supplications are offered and accepted

Remember my chains

 

GO Home!

Home?

I have no home…

…I am like the river that trudges through…

With no place to call my own

…I bumble on

To stop where life wills…

They take what they want…

And dump what they will…

…On I lumber…

Changing names along the way

…Recruit…

…Deserter…

…Objector…

…Asylum seeker…

Illegal immigrant…

…Homeless…

 

   

The straw that killed the camel...

 

My sight never failed me
My hearing was tone perfect all along

Bullets didn’t terrorise my inside
Hunger never excavated my pride

I never gave up
I never gave in
I never grew tired
I never looked back
I never relented
I never regretted

I always looked forward...until I saw the darkness inside

 

May I live this moment for you?

Can I borrow your voice for a moment?
And tell the world what the promise was…
That which nineteen-year-old boys grew old holding on to
May I grab hold of a compatriot’s shoulders with your hands?
And shake it until they wake up and remember…what the dream was

May I pat the shoulders of that comrade you left behind?
And encourage him that it is not over yet…? 
May I call him by the nicknames you came up with?
May I resuscitate his jovial smile?
And make this valley echo with laughter… once more

   

The New Berlin Wall

Now you dare to snatch 
My sisters and brothers
Hannibal’s distant cousins
Desert defying voyagers
Unyielding Eritreans 
Sworn enemies of tyranny
Beacons of liberty
Not easy to digest
Break or Silence
You stole their body
Not their spirit or soul 
As they rise to the heavens
They spit on you
Mediterranean Sea
Europe’s New Berlin Wall

 

The other others

We looked in, in horror for a moment…
And for a brief moment we all seemed fully human…
Not half beast as we seem to be the rest of the time
…Seventy-five dead, five near dead… thousands waiting to die
... And no one was mourning…
In the stark light of the brief limelight…
The dead were like a magnet that held us all there…
…All together for once…

   

(III) Eritrea, Eritreans and Eritreanism

 

The Spark

No regular fireworks would do.
Instead, entire Kunama villages
had to be set ablaze in a great bonfire
to let the whole world know
the birth of the Eritrean revolution.

The first shot at Tegorba

By looking at the hole in the roof
nobody can tell if the shot was fired
by a patriot, a shifta or an outright fool.
But it sure has been leaking like hell ever since,
now pouring down in torrent.

Sept 1, 1961: day of infamy

It unfurled itself backwards and forwards
to claim the bloody past
with its victims’ cries still echoing
and to usher a sectarian future
under whose shadow we are still living.

 

Boiled and Bleeding Tongues

Truth

so loud; from on high
wired in words
fenced by inner silence
denial reigns
on tripe and boiled tongues
only to land; on frozen ears
as for the eyes
the witness; off the scene
is now-here to be seen
but still on guard; for more lies

   

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Asmarino Staff

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The Graffiti Wars