
I
I was born
On Wenceslas Square
White flames playing with my hair.
II
I was born
In the National Stadium, Santiago City
Swimming in a surge of electricity.
III
I was born
On a Sharpeville Street
Bullets snapping at my feet.
IV
I was born
Twinned with Soweto’s pride
The day my brother, Hector, died.
V
I was born
In a cloud of Agent Orange near Da Nang
Listening to the lullabies the napalm sang.
VI
I was born
In front of the US Embassy
Under the boot, the hoof, trying to flee.
VII
I was born
In a cattle truck, Asbest bound
With Stukas circling round and round.
VIII
I was stillborn
One of two million invisible in Park Lane
One link in the unbroken chain.
IX
I was born
In Hiroshima’s fields of ash
At the press of one button gone in a flash.
X
I was born
In a Zeiklon shower
Corrupt fruit of a hateful flower.
XI
I was born
In the ghetto named the Gaza Strip
Product of gunship marksmanship.
XII
Listen well, my friend
No matter which way the smoke blows,
I will be born again.
The image is of jailed Palestinian children by Iqbal Tamimi.