Rina Banerjee

Image Not Available for A mighty mass of foam wept, a net no less wet and sticky claimed each speck of labor for another speck, broke them off her country's sweat so did she squatted on tight thighs, to beat out her horrid task, one at dark and the other by sight when colonial powers swung high a undignified humanity reigned no less till all was free to name

Image Not Available for Ivory hunters, rubber merchants, labor traders, farm hands, like ancient tree, Banyan tree threw its tangerine roots from his pale mouth, scraped the earth of wealth with bodies jumping, swaying and swirling, black and brown limbs flying, small hands churning to feed the cream she made with this crimson flesh to colonial kings too far to see, so make them sing with no remorse while nature and savage flicker, to cease upon a candles glow