Norman Mwale [The PenPusher]
They told us ‘development’ – steel
and glass sprouted, monuments
to a future deferred. Meanwhile
feathers lined the nests of clerks,
and rivers turned opaque with secrets.
Each promise birthed a progeny
of privation. ‘For the greater good,’
the lie went, as famished bellies
shrank into themselves. The ledger
of what’s owed keeps growing.
And still they come, script in hand,
reciting the catechism of progress.
Listen closely: where words like ‘growth’
and ‘stability’ fall, violence crouches,
licking its lips in anticipation.
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