These shoes

what feet have walked in these shoes,
where have they traveled untold miles,
have they trod a hot dusty plantation road,
bruised and burdened by years of burden,
have they felt the blisters of the field,
the pain of the long hoed furrow,
what misery have they withstood, these shoes
wading the rising stream of history,
stumbling across conflict’s slippery rocks,
crossing the granite steps of destiny,
have they trampled over barbwire,
heard the whistle of bullets, death’s sting,
their soles sodden and soaked in blood,
tripping on the remains of fallen heroes,
have they followed the path of freedom,
marching in the name of righting wrong,
washed by the fire hose of ignorant bigotry,
what do these shoes know that we should know,
has their leather and thread held,
binding the resolve of a nation to be better,
to be something more than religious zeal,
weathering the greed of the money counters,
patching their wear with a people’s conscience,
have they taken up the challenge to leaders,
demanded that what is written will be truth,
that all that exist are equal in life, in creation,
is it only for poets to ask where they have been,
will others find the answers in their soul,
who will pick up these shoes and repair them,
who will continue this magnificent human journey,
who will believe in the brotherhood of all creatures
who will wear these shoes

©2011, Donald Harbour

Who Will Kill Freedom

When a young man stood still,
To stop a tank on Tienanmen Square,
Did you stand up and cheer,
Did you protest with him – did you care?

When a young girl is gang raped,
In the silent violent Darfur night,
Do you feel her pain – her shame,
Do you shout at your leaders this is not right?

When a nation values truth and justice,
Then tortures a captive in a concrete cell,
Where were your values of honor,
Where were they as the nation descends into hell?

When you look at your image in the mirror,
What is reflected there that grasps your mind,
In the light of reason – the path of light,
Has it so dimmed that to reality you are blind?

When the newspaper white washes wrong,
Casting half truths on pages printed with soy ink,
Must you use it to wrap odious fish offal,
Or does the smell of their craft already stink?

When your leaders carp about their party,
The same words that Stalin and Mao once used,
And the Constitution is cast aside,
Are you with patriotic indignation infused?

When we become the animals in the chute,
Stumbling to a slaughter house Democracy,
We will draw the knife across freedom’s throat,
Held in the hands of our own hypocrisy.

Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour