I first met her in a photo
standing among ravaged farmers surrounded
by riot police

Homesteads collapsed                  neighbors handcuffed
children cried                                 breathless

Years later, she limped towards me
right leg             broken                faltered police

By a leisure coffee she wished to be a guitarist
when there are no more victims of land grabs

Skyscrapers        rise                      penetrating
our eyes in the relentless                                 wealthiness.

She walked into jail when farmers
                    were shot ——

New wealth justifies injustice
By blood

Villages torn         farmers left          land scorched
Her broken guitar hums

Suffocates my ignorance.