Into their able hands, their fathers trusted
The Jewel of their fathers past
In gold like and diamond form
Confined in glamor, clothed in splendour
...
Dark clouds upon paradise
I can't turn back
I must sail to the bank
With hope that sun will rise
...
I want to grow into a man
They say I must
He beacons at every break of dawn
But the boy within is scared
...
Our hands are filthy and full of sins
Active we are in unholy scenes
Yet, your eyes ignore and pretend not to have seen
Our iniquities, you easily forgive
...
I've seen you lied a thousand times
yet, I thirst for my own fair share
But, if you will lie to me
Please hold my hands and look into my eyes
...
Alone on my cornfield
Darkness threaten to gulp us all
But the peaceful moon would not let it
Its rays touches my corn, like I am in my lovers' arms
...
On our way home
Rocky and thorny roads we travelled by
Guided by destiny and belief
The hope of home beat in our heart
...
Time, if tis true
That thou art older than we all
Then only to thee can i turn
In this time of woe
...
I woke up at our sleep hour
And dusk was not without light
My mind was filled with fright
As an unknown took me to a lonely tower
...
From far away, i could hear the sounds of you
with my hands i clutched, in my heart i kept
To every blink of your eyes, I wrote a song
To the melody your breath, I beat my father's gong
...
Teach me, for twas claimed that "i am" empty at birth
Prior, twas claimed that "i am" is outside matter
Whether "i am" is empty or outside matter, i do not know
And i know that i do not know
...
I want to be a king when kingdom comes
But I was told that me royalty is lost
I need to have a talk with my forebears
The kind of talk I do not want with my progeny
...
She made it easy to love
But I did not show enough, despite my feelings
I wish to do better, if only she can give me time
She said time is money, If only I can get a loan
...
I broke every heart that ever loved me
I fed fat on their despair
Now my heart bleeds for you
But blood sweets your mouth like wine
...
They say our culture is dead
They ululate the demise of our heritage
Cos of this, they profess that our future is gloomy
If truly 'tis dead, then I ask, who killed it?
...
Plight Of My Generation
Into their able hands, their fathers trusted
The Jewel of their fathers past
In gold like and diamond form
Confined in glamor, clothed in splendour
In the secret corners of our doting heart
The right to own, we desire, we desire
At youth, we labour for to perfect our 'able' hands
Patiently and anxiously, we await our turn
This we did to noble ourselves and our fathers
Alas, the day has come.
That onto us our fathers must give
The Jewel of our fathers past
Into our noble hands, it was entrusted
Jewel not in glamour but decay
Shattered it is, with its splendour strangled
But accept we must, reject we can't
For our children, for them to live
For death itself now dine with our fathers
An itch, we can't scratch
A wound that won't heal
Oedipus, where is thy face?
why not forewarn us to follow thy step?
Are you not a noble in our tales?
And with what tongue, shall we tell our children
That our fathers' jewel is glorious no more
cause we trusted our fathers
Shall we be praised or scorned
Shall we earn their trust or their hate
Together shall we feast or on us shall they fist
A pain that won't go
An itch we can't scratch
A wound that won't heal
This is the plight of my generation
A scar forever on our conscience.
There is always a greater price to pay, especially when it comes cheap.
sweet poems