MOTHERLAND (5)
Motherland ! Suffering Mother ! Thou stay\'st silent.
All sorts of accusations against thee do they invent,
But, thy unfailing sustenance, bounteous Mother,
Doth feed again yonder one and all : even yon accuser.
Against thee nurture they nothing but spite :
The hand that doth sustain them, callously they bite;
We toil away; we have to shut up and foot the bill :
Ne’er once do we say that bitter be the pill.
Drain\'d were we by yon foreign state,
Yet, for others, we still toil from morn till late;
Mercilessly by greedy guys were we milk\'d dry :
Still, to feed yon far-away folks, dutifully we try.
We slave away, so others might travel by air :
We plod away, so others by sea might voyage :
But, there be no gratitude in this callous age :
They curse thee, Mother, in manners unfair....
***
Mother, from tiring toil our workers never hold back :
Yet, yonder they still maul thee in their idle time;
Feeding ‘pon thy labour, they accuse thee of some crime :
How heart-rending, Mother, such an ungrateful attack !
We sacrifice ourselves, so they might prosper :
Yet, in their eyes, we only see brooding murder;
Our dear ones we leave back, as we go into exile :
For our sacrifice are we flay\'d in manners so vile.
For decades ourselves have we impoverish\'d :
\'Tis at this price that yon folks have flourish\'d :
Yet, heap they \'pon us some unfair accusation :
They know not the meaning of exploitation.
Time and again thou doth see yon faces callous :
Bravely doth thou face these attacks vicious :
Generously doth thou roll out one more sustenance:
Thy pitiful fate, Mother, will we sing in remembrance.
Every passing day consent we to more sacrifices :
They complain they be left to their own devices.....
But, from them what on earth do we take ?
What do we pinch away, for God\'s sake ?...
***
Plenty do we provide, so they may live better :
But, everything we do renders them more bitter;
After the tempests, we repair their bridges :
They still brand us as nothing but savages.
Our billions, here spent, would have work\'d wonders :
Yonder we spend them : only to be call\'d robbers.
To our own poor people a simple home we deny :
We build yonder : yet, full of hate be their cry.
From the clanging chains they ask to be free :
We wish them a future bright, as bright can be;
They know not yet the meaning of toil :
With their recriminations let them boil.
What we\'ve done for them, boldly now we say,
Ne’er in centuries will they be able to repay;
Of chains deliver’d, on their own at last,
Ponder they shall ‘pon our sacrifices past.
\'Tis true, the fettering chains can ne\'er be justified :
By bloody chains had we ourselves been mortified :
Mercilessly have our patriots fac’d exploitation :
We still donate : only to meet with recrimination.
For ages fleec\'d by others, we did rot :
Still toil we away for yon ungrateful lot;
The inevitable must come to pass one day :
Foolish are we the decision further to delay.
Motherland ! Thy heart would they rend asunder.
We do give and give, like selfless protectors :
Yet, everywhere we turn, we see demonstrators :
Cruel be thy fate, thou, thou, suffering Mother !.....
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