Those who think
They own the land have
Subdivided it,
Into zones to reap political gains
And the tears of the citizens
They turn into liquid gold.
They have ripped the land
Bare
Or it is drying up
To a level when our own tears
Will no longer be turned into anything else.
Some may say the glue that holds us
Is dry and brittle
Now is the time to fight
But shrapnel do not settle any scores
The land itself is made to secrete it bonds
When the time comes,
We shall know the real patriots
Of the land.
When the lode goes
And our ploughshares loosen the earth
They way our fathers did,
Then those who pilfer nutrients from the land
Will ultimately plough them back
When their teeming appetite abates
And they lie still upon the same land
They cheated us by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
an interesting poem of land ownership? well written.