Friday, 9 August 2019

Freedom Means No Borders.

        Migrants, that group of human beings devoid of rights, demonised by the state, simply because they crossed those imaginary lines drawn across the planet by power mongers. Lines that mark the territory over which a small group of powerful and wealthy individuals claim sovereignty. They will defend this patch of the planet with their subjects blood, to ensure they retain their plundered lands or expand them. These lines, borders, are transient, they shift and move according to the dictates of power, without any consideration for those living between these shifting lines. A country can be on a map one day and then disappear on another day, for example Kurdistan, sliced up and divided among other countries, at the dictate of the European Imperialists. Palestine, rapidly disappearing in a deadly and bloody land grab by the Israeli state. Borders are an anathema of freedom, they place individuals under the tutelage of some fabricated sovereignty, demanding the people follow its drum beat and dance to its song, even to the extent of shedding their blood, the state demands we feed on that poison known as patriotism, which is the abandonment of your will to that of the state.
       Freedom is impossible as long as we have the planet divided into power blocks, states, each controlled by a small bunch of pampered and over privileged individuals competing for the worlds finite resources. No where in this grand scheme of things, is there room for the freedom of the individual, no possibility of equality, the system, to survive, must have leaders and followers, otherwise it collapses. If we desire freedom, justice and equality with a sustainable existence, all borders must vanish and be seen for what they are lines in the sand drawn by the greedy and powerful to their own advantage. 
No, I shall not die for the fluttering flag,
if truth be known, ’tis nothing but a multi-coloured rag
held aloft by some foolish hand
inciting worker and peasant to kill
on some green and wooded hill,
peasant and worker from some other land.
Nor shall I shed blood for the fluttering rag
that brings out fools to stand and brag
of brutal deeds painted grand,
deeds where rustic and craftsman lie so still
killed by my brothers' misguided hand.
No allegiance have I for the Nation
this man made autocratic creation
that divides my brothers in a world so small,
binds us to a country's cause, right or wrong,
bids us follow its drum, sing its song,
then sheds our blood in some border brawl.
No, I'll be no slave to flag or nation,
have no ear for power oration,
though its iron heel is on my breast,
my back feels its leather thong,
at patriotism's barracoon, I'll be no guest. 
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