A Post-America Lament

Kamala Land

This land once my ancestors’ land
Built from their blood, sweat, and tears
In its earth beneath the grass rest their bones
Now this land is a strange land, Kamala Land
From the broken, burning and sicken cities of California
To those of the New York island
From the forest of broken statues
To the sanctuary cities across the nation
This land once our land has become an alien land
As I went walking ribbons of broken streets
I saw above me columns of smoke and ash
Saw below me bloody streets covered with broken glass and trash
This land was given and earned then taken from you and me
I roam and ramble and follow my footsteps
Escaping into prairies, mountains and deserts
And all around me I hear voices lamenting
“Pioneered by ancestors this land was made for you and me
A time when the sun shone bright and the sky was blue
Above wheat fields waving and cattle grazing”
Now the voices speak mournfully
“This land once our land is now an alien land
From California to the New York island
From the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land once America is now Kamala Land”
As the last light of a setting sun disappears in the darkness
I go strolling mid shadowy figures with menacing looks
Strangers occupying the land once my homeland
Wheat fields rotting, clouds of smoke rising, American cities dying
The voice lamenting among the ruins is mine
With tears I realize I have no home in Kamala Land.