Queens Beneath The Waste
On our sacred lands, their trash keeps piling,
On our sacred lands, their trash keeps piling,
Containers of silence, lies still smiling.
Under cobalt suns, our rivers choke,
But our voices rise, our drums provoke.
Green colonialism, in eco disguise,
They poison our world with polished lies.
The Congo spills not its own disgrace,
But the garbage of a world out of place.
Yet look at our mothers, strength in tied cloth,
Carrying the weight, never backing off.
Tears like embers, words like flame,
They cleanse the land, reclaim the name.
Woman is root, keeper of the still,
Awakening minds with unshaken will.
She turns hate into sparks of light,
And transforms waste into tools for the fight.
As they bury, we plant and bloom,
In tainted soil, truth finds room.
Our voices fly, fierce and raw,
Against empires of plastic and law.
― Orakle Ngoy
