All in shackles of independence,
As we bath in blood of the innocent,
Shouting and wailing for help like a little child who got hurt,
So pure and innocent we appear,
Only to realize how rugged and unkempt we live.
The voice of the people turning to curse,
As they live in pain and agony,
Waiting and hoping for a better nation,
Even when they live in lies
And hoping for better days ahead.
We put on holy garment as a camouflage,
Only to sleep in mud and bath with the blood of the helpless,
Also feasting on their flesh like a lion feasts on its prey,
As we care less about their pain and agony,
And their ignorance we feed on.
We tramp on them just to crush them and laugh at their suffering,
When they feel a little bit of hope for peace,
The people must be silent just the way we want them, they say,
But they still shout peace and unity for their country
Even if it’s the last thing they do.
This poem was published in the 5th Issue of PoeticAfrica magazine.
Please click here to download.
Read – A Flower for Each – Chikapa Bernadette (Malawi)
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