My pen yearns for a rise of hope
They say hope isn't a strategy,
but by it we cope.
There's a blast in someone's country home,
Women and children are now left to roam.
A man got kidnapped in his living room,
The neighbors wailed; he was a prospective groom.
Another was macheted on his farm while weeding.
They say bandits loathe the unyielding.
Vigilantes didn't lose vigilance yet lost their lives
Brought back home to their wailing wives
The police stated it was not their fight
Even they are entitled to human rights.
The army says they've got weaker weapons
And only God should be called upon.
Folks lose confidence
in the government by the hour.
But everything we've lost will come back in showers;
Our trust in God is our power.
And even in the face of death, we won't cower.
So long we live, we will replenish
Our smiles and all that has once perished.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem