Death March, a poem by Andrea Myinga at
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Death March

Death March

written by: Andrea Myinga



There is no ‘we’ in ‘I’
Moments have named it well
It’s a spell of life must go on

The journey of the ‘we’ has an end
Top of a grave is the limit
Down the earth rest the ‘I’

Cries ever unearth a casket
They move around ears
Dying with travelling wind

If there’s pain of death
Wails of ‘I’ must go unanswered
None understands tongue of the dead

If there’s joy and happiness
The ‘I’ is somewhere as pitying
For the others are not in-party
They are in tears, tearing apart
The parts spreading nowhere
In their pockets destined to last.

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