In vain the clouds converge
And sweat beneath our skins remain
Buried tubers denied water
Verdant beings age and rivers die
Worshippers desert shrines at dawn
Silhouettes of sin part black thighs
Famished feet leave no prints on ground
Fouled air choke passages of life
Night haunts our dreams with tales of dread
As owls reveal the next traveller
Who mass shall into the earth sink
Leaving behind more tales of woe
Despite our imprisoned freedom
They weave baskets with strands of falsehood
And will laughter when despair reigns
When the morrow is a vapour
Despondency is no creed
We refuse to slave for the king
We refuse to be slave to fate
We shall not for chance break our chords
After this long night
We shall converge on heaven's gate
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem