Give Me A Metal Pant To Protect My Set Poem by Preston Mwiinga

Dark clouds have continued in Zambia, characterized with brutal murders, we are no longer watching a horror movie the hammer house of horror, we are now characters in this movie. Victims of people who want to be rich and build Nigerian palace`s out of our blood and body parts. Our ZingaGeophic Cry is so loud. Our eyes are like a delter of water in the desert. Because of the tears pouring from our eyes every now and then, our eyes are have become red like a lady dresses in red for valentines.
These animals are like vimpires killing people anyhow, not even babies are spared. Do we have to be moving with metal pants to protect our private parts? Other people call our parts, `Ma Set` Do we really need bullet proofs to protect our hearts? Do we have to be dressed like robots for survival? How shall we be protected from the six feet under.
When our men are mostly killed who will be a husband to the women remaining, who will be a father? Let's join hands together or eritea comes to our beloved nation. Cry out o beloved country, Let the world hear of the ZingaGeophic Cry!