The Stone

They came from afar
Men of great pomp
Rubbing their hands across me
Making imprints, impressions
Taking copius notes
Writing, always writing

I refused to tell
anything

So, they blew me up.

Into bits.

For development, they said.
For the river, they said.
For modernity and infrastructure, and trade.

They did not know
that what they blew up

wasn’t just a bulky stone

I was divided
Torn apart
Local
Global
Useful
Useless
Foreign
Familiar

A National Treasure.

Posthumous.

A monument to the dead.

Still, I do not tell.

I must not.

Published in Sound of Mind: a teacher-writers’ anthology of poetry and prompts (Ethos Books, 2014)

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