Grant Me Death, O Tyrant

We demand proof of death: in the burden of living,
We tread the endless path,
To become unseen, we must first be seen today,
In the graves of the marginalized blooms the flower of existence.

At the gates of death, we stand, claiming our right to live,
While many receive much, we desire only:
The air to breathe, a place to stand on earth,
Our modest demands turn to ashes in the flames.

We ask for death—this request is direct—
Whether slow or swift,
Whether easy or hard, it matters not,
There is no loss—only proof we wish to provide:
We live through death, having gained life by dying.

If you cannot fulfill our final demand,
The flames of rebellion will ignite across your land,
For the dying fear not, nor hesitate—
Whatever we find ahead, we will shatter silently.

In the end, we shall consume: the bread of hatred,
Discrimination, and the rice of neglect,
Your conscience, justice, the last remnants of humanity,
Today, nothing is immortal before our death.

Grant us death, O tyrant,
Or else we shall take life itself.