My brain bleeds when society sneers
At the least of its lot and in a mercurial manner
Gloats over ill gotten gains when peers
Languish in utter destitution while a boastful banner
Flutters in a wind God created not for the crafty few
But for his entire flock
Even though God conferred the honour on you
And I to be the rock
On which God builds his church
To proclaim the Good News and become our brothers'
Keepers. God didn't enjoin us to leave in the lurch
Widows, orphans, street kids, harlots and others
Whom society ought to nurture despite their gender
Their economic status, peerage and their age.
Wake up, Zambia, and put on top of your agenda
The care of the vulnerable in real terms, not just on your Facebook page.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem