Murder most foul
a crime most horrific
still submerged in
the flimsy mudslinging
of politicking.
Silence most deafening.
Entrails lying scattered,
blood splattered
and dried out leaving
stains that no lipservice
or undiscerning protest
can wash away.
At large remains the
beasts, the arms of law
not long enough and
the will of powers that be
in mute mode reeking
heinous culpability.
Colour matters,
status counts and
justice will remain denied
until the storm of protest
gathers albeit belatedly.
Better late than never.
Let our souls be
scarred beyond cure.
Let our hearts never get
purged of the painP
and let our minds feel
shame that eats into our vitals.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem