Hunger Strikes You who know no fear of tomorrows filled with nothing but a belly full of hunger, The crumbs you scatter for the birds never fall upon our tables. Your platters filled with meats in sauces made with wine to tempt your pallet are unknown to we who dine on dust. Your tender, hope-filled words, like peace branches brought by carrier pigeons, we would sooner eat than read the tiny scrolls tied to their slender limbs. We have a right to live. We, too, have our dignity. Do not think to hide cupidity for our resources behind sweet statistics devoid of all humanity. The nudity of your purposes is poorly veiled, disguised under promises of aide. It is time to strike, for hunger strikes! Our guts make their presence known in a twisting agony of screaming need. Can you not hear the dirge of nations all but lost to this soul snatcher called by terms now as benign as famine?
© Nyuka Anaïs Laurent 15.02.2010
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