Britain fed on the fat of my land, and every land: A poem 

Am I fortunate to be born in a constellation 

that is neither black nor white; a nation 

just beginning to shake off the water of colonialism 

from its back, after an age of enforced somnambulism 

It is said they looted over 40 trillion from our soil 

We could confront them or let it go like wasted kitchen oil 

Could there be a round of applause for forgetting 

the unapologetic and remorseless? Or deprecating?  

Lest we forgive them for us being on the frontiers of their war 

And our men didn’t, any accreditation or thanks, saw 

And their museums still have our loot, like the caw 

of birds that steal another’s nest just because 

they have the might to do it, and not to pause 

there, for the world has a skewed order; the victims are at a loss! 

And their bread was made sandwiching the fat of every land 

Great Britain?!? Royalty of cruelty! Or simply, Satan Save England! 

PostScript: 

Now they think they are doing a deed coming to Ukraine’s aid 

After all they raped and looted, and did what God forbade 

They say they will put their forces on the battleground 

I hope they are confounded and made to turn around