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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