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My dear country laments |
Mother Eden's Tales These incessant unwanted hisses that dot my lips with spittles; The involuntary blinks of lids: a result of heart aches; And the jecks of these dropped shoulders; Hmmm; I cracked smile my agony face: a cover up for tumbling mind; Atleast I should be brave for the mines- I taught. I am a land- west of the Alkabulan, Home for larges of black race. My hunger is not of wants, Milks flow deep in my breasts; My wants is not of lack, Meadows green-beds nest my Courtyards; But of the fore-privilege of my offspring, That pummeled their blood-relates to selfless esteem, Even invited strangers to eat their flesh! T's agony of motherhood. Sometimes I wish I can flush them down the drain of cold hands; As they bath in the tears of my depriviledged children; Sometimes I wish, I can close on them; the doors of entrants to my domains to stop these sucking of blood: children livelihood. These strangers, my milk they suck for growth; depriving them of their birth-right. These entrants, my urine they scoop; to burn their technologies to bum. Sometimes I wish I can cease my urine; Maybe they will leave me be; Just for a time: a detour; My water ways dry: maybe they will go back; They are the termite: eaten the juice and pumping the dust; they are the odour: polluting my elite children; Oh my children, my children, my children are now cannibals too; Eating the flesh of blood-relates: there skins fall off their backs; My children. They are like their father: ho Alkabulan! If you were here; the labour of these heros past; Shalt not be in vain. I was your bride; 'My Eden'! You would call; Adorned with trees of different fruits; you tended; You danced around me in valour and defiance; This moistured eyes are not for you my lord Alkabulan; But of my children: working as slave in their father's house; The strength of great warriors withered in battle; They beg to be given bread amidst plenty; Their brothers cheering them on: endure! Just for a time! What should I do, my lord? These fore-privileged have gone sore, They even dress like them that renamed you; Africa The greediness of the 'cifer has taken hold of them. They gather what they do not need; They have gone the ways of agilinti. I know you still remember; YO is still here luscious and wise; HA is till vast as the seashore; IB is creative and relentless; They are strong and capable of a kingdom of own each; But they are tied together at the waist; Can't even move, nor fend for selves; Only to fight for crumbs; I weep for our Children, What should I do, my lord?! The royalty in their blood, Even same inherited from you; Claw for dominance. They are lions that cannot be armour bear for tigers. The eagles that will not eat carcass like vultures; Their strength is in rulership, Having territory of own but still blood relates; What should I do my lord?! Here I sit, as He had commanded, As loyal to you as ever; That's what we were taught; Here I sit, weeping in despair; Hoping our children will turn dear; That's what would be joyous; But these YOHAIB have gone gaga; As there tongues differ; So their minds and dreams; What should I do; my lord; I seat still here hoping. |