My children, my children how my heart doeth feel fear,
as the soldiers come with the destruction ever so near,
I weep for my future, I weep for my friends,
I weep for the lives that will be lost in the end.
No one helped us, we strive through life,
now our land is in turmoil and strife.
I wish I could hold you and whisper in your ear,
of the struggles I face each day I live here.
The smell of death doeth rise on the wind,
I only pray God would soon make it end.
I know it's not right to worry you so,
but as your mother my dear, children I thought you should know.
We didn't create such a mess,
why this happened to us is anyone's guess.
Are we not the future and even the past?
Will our days on this world end so fast?
This war was created by our people against us,
tell me dear children who we should trust.
I end this, my letter, just to let you know,
if my days on this earth are short, remember your mother who loves you so.
Extremely moving if the powers that be could be moved by the words in your poem then peace would surely come to Zimbabwe.
Dear Chris Higginson; I'm honored as well as humbled, and please that you found my poem to your liking, and so very happy that you'll be including it in with your competition. If I win, please send the money to those who need the most, for knowing that I've helped someone is reward enough for me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The 'mess' shall surely come to an end my friend. It is a revolution, it might take time but let the zimbabweans be rest assured that things will definitely improve in the country.