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Under the ice
I weep and I wail,
I am separated from the surface,
the space between the ice and my face,
is the size of your hatred, of your ignorance and your craze.
The cold knives of injustice stab me in the back.
They stab and stab and still fail to stab deeper than your betrayal.
How cunningly you declare the devastation.
Of my frail position in the water beneath the ice.
In society beneath the price.
You stand there looking.
You even act surprised.
You write books and letters stating your aim,
how it burns to stand in the flame.
“Flames of failure”
“Burns of mistakes.”
You claim to be able.
Yet you are actually disabled.
The same I see, as I stare from under the ice.
Your scarf could be my saviour.
But it is too expensive to pay the price.
For you could fall in.
I know that for sure.
I thought you would be willing
I thought your words were pure.
But like life is, so is death
As I breath out my last breath
Stand there talking.
Scream if you prefer.
You could have saved me.
Yet you chose your deter.
So stop yelling.
Stop preaching.
Your farce face is far now.
I am the nation beneath the ice
You are my ruler
Written on April 26, 2007
© 2007 Lize Kubersky (All rights reserved)
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Lize-Leandra Ehlers
I am a young Namibian writer. My aim is to sensitize the readers of this online publication with the art community of Namibia. It is vital that the world witnesses the growth of the art and culture section of society. Please share my appreciation.
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