Dear God, how many leaders more
Should the oppressed mourn for
Ere their just cause finds favour
In the eyes of justice and honour?
How many more sons of the soil
For the flag die, brave and loyal
Ere their earnest dream & sacrifice
Fetch the yearnin’ souls a just price?
How many more innocent children
Go fatherless in homes joy-barren
Ere their crying hearts are consoled
And happily rested in heaven’s fold?
Tears, streaming down the sunken cheeks
Of a poor soul deprived of what he seeks;
Tears, provoked by a dying lonely heart
Of a poor soul pleading for a fresh start.
The Holier-than-Thous have despised;
Friends have laugh’d behind disguised,
Ignorant of bitter tears of a poor soul,
Outcast’d by the world that cried ‘foul’!
Walking the streets of the self-righteous-
With gait & manner humble & courteous.
Still they hurt a poor soul & are justified,
Blind to his youth-years t’at was sacrificed.
In the atrium of his undisclosed heart
Resides Hope of converting their hurt
Into beautiful lessons of life he’d enjoy
That’d, someday, bring him tears of joy.
A. Anato Swu
Satakha Zunheboto
