For the roads paved in gold
Have stories told,
Have stories told,
The truth on whose backs
Break from whacks
Of whips, forcing
Children to bring
Riches from mines,
Denying the education of minds.
Another poem on the wrongs,
But see we still throng
To that material saviour,
Rather than help a woman, save her
From the rape and torment,
Her body was not meant
To define a warlords control.
She's a queen, not a hole.
As coltan still surfaces
I pray mobile phone worshippers
See the red dripping from their wrists.
The twist?
It’s not your blood as you hold the cell,
It’s your phone trying to tell
The real cost…
In invaded bodies and lives lost.
Ask the manufacturer at point of sale,
What was the actual cost to child and female.
