In Our Exile

In Our Exile
By Rino Palmani

Maybe the gun is not the lord of this land
But in our exile
Every unfamiliar face
Is the face of the enemy
Though we dine well on the fruits of our labours
The sweetness has been drained from our days

They killed our fathers
With machetes, after they hacked away
At the tendons of the legs of our fathers.
They spiked our women.

Our blood does not forget.
We will have our justice.
We will taste their women.
We will hunt them down.