On my face, however much I smile,
The intrigues of pain will be printed.
On my voice, even though jubilating
The cry of lived sorrow will be heard.
I sleep and wake to find stress gone
But the memories of those them days!
I saw corpse at four years and I was torn
The hyenas hovered over them gunned
And I felt hearts they've lost and shunned
As I scrolled to their sight, my cheek got hit.
With strength of heart guided by humane mind
I tried to scrawl the humiliation but hard
At five pen I couldn't hold on paper firmly.
I cry-called on them by their names mixed
But who the deaf of beasts dare heard me.
If I was just a kid on blood of world
What of minds would I hold after such!
Mysteries, shadows, and blooded spirits
In the midst of grinding teeth of the nyigat
All laid low and cold with thin form of line
And their atmospheres thin and thick dusted
But then who of monsters stood up to sight it!
Ever since I was a teenager what haven't I saw,
All the red and yellow of hurdles with the garmented harries
That took all the forms that killed my short lasted seniors
Leaving less to hold on control to whisper a word of wisdom
But here I talk of one-two that could have changed the eagles
With their piercing head outgrown telescopic clogged eyes
Men in the hindrance of freedom pin- paralysed the little hope
And left the land so bare and dry - cold with warm so fast dying.
Then life, I called the life as it was leaving me behind,
To land yonder in the far west horizons so thin and lessening,
In dreams, hope, I thought would last awhile in the essence
But there they are with their hoodies glowing red on the eye
Furious for no intended purpose just to slay any seed of growing hope
Has killing so become a game played by those who hold little meaning to life
Progress so cripplingly laid low weak of zeal to rejuvenate just a height
Then what has the sky to say to the dying little plantations! - the laughter of victory
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.