Iron Mask

Sakwa Franc

Trod in footsteps of her history

Perhaps you will uncover hidden mystery

It's a journey to walk and discover her ministry

When eyes grow dim and conscience turns into casuitry

No vision no breath no smell all efforts are sophistry

 

Desire to speak with no freedom

She can't allaud her children in their stardom

In a foreign land with discomforts all is boredom

All her wealth and strength are in private fiefdom

Her children are slaves and wanderers in their heirdom

 

Identity is lost and burried

All virtues in her offsprings are impaired

It's hot it's heavy eyes turns red

A future that was aborted her people wallow in ocean of blood

A spectacle to the world all her fields are plastered

 

She is a slave

Her children departs at tender age to grave

No smile no laughter no speech she's told to behave

All her vain fruits are gathered in basketweave

It's dark it's dark it's a grave

 

  • Author: Francis (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 17th, 2023 05:02
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 16
  • Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
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Comments +

Comments1

  • L. B. Mek

    motherland, heed our tears
    mother tongue, hear our pleas
    red sands, mass graves
    abandoned heart's and smiles
    in children's eyes
    Sun rises, bakes our future's
    dust in our eyes
    there is little we aspire towards
    blanket hope's
    dreamless sleep, never a full
    Moon
    we traverse life, reaching
    for a glimpse
    of justice, for a shard of possibility
    untainted by greed
    motherland, heed our tears
    mother tongue, hear our pleas

    • Sakwa Franc

      Thanks so much LB.
      There is still hope



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