The Young Poem by raymond letsitsa

For if they can curse
A dead body in a hearse
They'll wake up missing the sun
And singing a lamenting verse
Satan snatched eternity from Man's hand like a purse
So man goes back and fights
Many wars trying to settle the score
With his enemy man seeks to end
A reign of his demon through war
He walks barefoot in splintered terrain and comes back with feet
Feeling sore
Hens hunt in groups but eagles alone they soar
If truly man's life tells a tale
It shall be one of truth
Of how senseless fights took lives
Of mother Africa and her youth
So now as we sing
freedoms comes tomorrow like Sarafina
We die by this AIDS infected sting
Of racism's Hurricane Katrina
We bewitch each other for
we are jealous of our own progress
Rasta man and woman blaspheme the Jesus that their Jah won't bless
Like a dying invalid or a crippled contortionist
The situation's hopeless
The continuity of this life poetry endless
And their undying fervency is
cancer-infected and worthless