by Yvonne M. Estrada

Violent storm ended in arrival.
Next day clear skies greeted by strange Others

lucky to be found for their survival
by keepers that were not their new brothers.

Back in London The Tempest’s Caliban
justified civilization’s pure blade.

Now in the tired New World the “Tallyban”,
Other of today pay for trouble made,

wrong color, god, language, place at wrong time.
Violent desert storms end in black rain.

It’s not slavery it’s just overtime,
The blame for death falls mainly on the slain.

Fire in the hole, nothing left to burn
When nothing is left old ways can return.

This poem was submitted as part of our communal poetry project, voces (voices) of the people (poets). If you’d like to contribute, please review the link, and send your poem to betweenfigandyork@gmail.com