Ditty To My Dying Country Poem by Melikhaya Zagagana

I am a son to a country in the South of Africa.
So rich that strangers come and plund the wealth;
As beautiful as it is each one is for himself.
We are diverse in race and often remind another.
There is no peace only anger, poverty and vanity;
Even me, I can't be proud enough to tell a friend.
So much the land is gifted but so little goes to the people.
Its rivers flow so noisily with tears of children in famine.
Wives and husbands dream for a cup of rice and a slice of bread.
Since they were born children never went to school.
Working class is flattened to low wages and high tax laws.
Graduates are maidens and gardeners to Mr John the gatekeeper.
Citizens choke in high rent cities and levy hikes… the poor is tabooed.
I walk in fear lest a brother take my life for a dime.
In our streets we have no time to greet and smile.
It is death waiting lives that people are forced to lead.
No time to think about the future hunger cuts it short.
My tears means nothing but my vote is a rich man's gold.
Politicians sing promises but to demonstrate is a myth.
It is hopeless but on I hop and hop to flee the country.
Schools teach tools while the brain lay in dust unconsumed.
Here I bid adieu as we part my country to a road that cuts by two.
Though my heart is held behind for my life I must part.
To the young and old I fare you well and hope the best will come.
Ditty to my dying country as I part with a sorrowful heart;
Tears will flow but only by death that I shall return.