If things got expiry date
Then let my tears dry
Out of their graves they cry
Justice, justice, where is your jury?
Gunshots in the morning bandits in the evening
Before they know how to trudge
Young men falls quiet in red pools
No place to call a home and no food
Some wander in unknown places
The last enemy knocks no one survives
Naked and without hope
Kwashiorkor eats them
Media houses are attracted
Rusty blades devour young girls
Bleeding , bleeding , the land is polluted
In foreign streets the cry is the same
Those with black skins are inferior
Their spray is bullets and their water is blood
Filed and forgotten cases, the cry
Cancer is in our cells the racism
Before their knockers are fully exposed
Sisters are caged in prisons of prostitution
Like doormats they are used and damped
Money in their pockets but souls in graves
My heart bleeds.