"Motherland (5)" ; 4 Dec 2023

                                      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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