A poem by Nandini Sen Mehra
Excuse me, but your knee is on my neck.
I know you’re busy, with a world to run,
forests to burn,
rivers to fill with your industrial waste,
money to turn,
but you know, your knee is on my neck.
I know it’s hard, for habits to go,
the process is slow, this is all you know
some above and some below,
but you know, your knee is on my neck.
I am the native people of the land,
I am the ones who were stolen,
smuggled like contraband,
I am the colour you cannot see, cannot stand,
I am the slave, the farm hand,
the one who keeps your shop manned,
but you know, your knee is on my neck.
I live, in lands both new and old,
I live, but truth be told,
this is no life,
to suffer in strife, to be less than nothing,
this cuts like a knife
for you know, your knee is on my neck.
I am all bled out.
Filled with what is putrid,
I am empty, within, without,
this is not right, this is not fair,
no one put you on top, up there
so now, I rage, and now I burn,
now I grasp when it’s my turn,
I will not take the hate you spew,
I will create, a world that’s new
and stand so tall, so filled with pride,
for you, not I have much to hide,
and dare you touch a strand of hair,
and dare you take more than that’s fair,
and let’s begin with what I see
I’ll start with a neck, free of your knee.
Nandini Sen Mehra is a Singapore-based poet and writer with an abiding curiosity about the human condition, the natural world, and the underlying interconnectedness of all things. Her debut book of poetry, Whorls Within, explores her journey into matters of the heart, mind and spirit. It is available at Amazon. She can be followed at Instagram. (www.nandinisenmehra.com)
