I can not find words to poeticize what has happened of late
I can not because I do not want
them to be forgotten
like theirs was fake, rotten
like theirs was a slate,
and you got yours chalked
on the broadness
of the blackboard
like theirs was to be left alone
and not to be told
like yours was all we had to tell
like they were rooters not heros
forcefully pardoned from life
sent to return to the soil
below the stamping feet that took it to the streets
like he did not give the order
"Shoot to kill"
why else did the bastards shoot
and kill their neighbour's son?
Like he did not give the order
"Shot to kill"
So shot they did
for puppet soldiers they are.
Shot to please the king
they cared not whom the bullet hit
shot to instill the fear of hot steel
and the king(s) on sanjika hill
Shot! shot! shot
until nineteen bodies
were left still
left to cover the front pages
of 240 billed papers.
Yes their winds came with songs
to encourage us on.
Windy songs that enticed us upon.
From our north to our south
our east to our west
But we only won words and lost
our freedom, ourselves
sharp idioms at the tip of their pens
we became bargaining chips
We lose life we get used
we became useful idiots
we became bullets in their gun's barrel.
We kill each other we get killed
We lose our brotherhood
and they lose nothing at all.