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A Place Called Home

We don't fear eternal damnation,
we live here,
hell can't possibly be worse.

On those cold hungry nights
children are kept warm by the infernos of hell
lit by angry mosquitoes
dodging slaps from irritated mothers
who not so silently curse absent fathers.

this land was built from blocks of apathy,
the souls of the poor and downtrodden holds them together
so their death is encouraged,
to keep up appearances,
politicians pretend they are outraged.

This is business,
The misery of the poor and needy,
funded by the rich gluttons of society,
accepted and sanctified, “Blessed are the poor...”,
Penury processed and packaged as humility,
Just keep them poor and blissfully ignorant.

and yet weighed down we find reasons to smile,
dance under the moonlight alone
because we can't afford true love,
Can't wait for help from above,
The only Heaven we know is within.

in the shadows,
a vulture waits patiently
for an emaciated child with an ironically large belly
to drop, dead.

So when Extravagant Preachers
who live, “as it is in Heaven”
come squawking about Fire and Brimstone,
we know it well,

Hell, is a place called Home.

*****October 16, 2013*****

I wrote this after listening to a documentary on CitiFM 97.3 on Hunger and Malnutrition in the 3 Northern Regions of Ghana. The Documentary is attached below.

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