By Kunsang Palmo
Intrigued, they come into our homes.
Their faces plastered with a smile.
A show of good will, unfortunately.
A camera ready in hand at all times.
Excited by our refugee-ness.
Moved by our simple ways.
I laugh at them.
I pity them.
They’re the embodiment of colonialism.
Their being reeks of colonialism.
Children of colonizers.
Practiced at colonizing.
A culture built on colonies.
A culture of stolen lands.
A culture of suppressed voices.
A horrid culture.
A pitiful culture.
A horrid and pitiful lot of people.
They come into our camp for pictures.
With a desire to take us.
With a desire to capture us
An old desire.
A persisting desire.
The desire that justified colonialism.
The desire that inspires colonialism.
The desire that has become us.
Consume all that surrounds us.
Land, people, animal.
These resources are scarce.
So we must hurry.
Hurry so that none is left.
Hurry so that we get all.
Kunsang Palmo is a Tibetan feminist poet.