I shed tears for my country,
Hot lead tears.
No end in sight, not today
Not tomorrow.
Sad tales, like worms
Ooze out from rotten wounds,
Which go deep
Deep deep beyond my forebears.
Dogs set out to hunt
Get eaten by games;
And games thrust to dogs
End up poisoning the belly of the dogs!
Such is the anthem we eat
As legacy
Colonial bequeathed lot:
Land of the slaved
Home of the cursed.
To whom shall I cry to?
And who shall join me in
This wailing symphony?
That,
Relief however minute
However temporal
Shall roof our filth
And cleanse the rots.
When gods go crazy
Who will beckon on them?
Will you?
Should I?
None will, yes,
Not even the beautiful ones!
Why?
Our cries have blinded the gods
And corrupted the heavenlies!
We all are accursed, else
Libations, incense and gifts
From salvaged few
Would have reached the skies.
But,
Should we begin our country a new?
Should we rebirth to rebuild to renew?
By my time,
It\'s still long hours till the morning sun...