Why Are We So Blessed?
We are the natives of the land
Even though diverse in brand,
Flowing with milk of anguish
Like robbers that lay ambush,
With emblems of scars of time
And horrific songs to mime:
When one sings fratricide,
And the other, a genocide
All are the proof of realities
That some termed absurdities.
In the midst of friends and foe
We have had records in row.
The policy of atrocities sown
Has today grown not to hewn
So, defaces the core interface:
The dead hope wit'out surface
Which is squandered hitherto
By the parliament of idiots, to
Quench that spirit-fire passion
That forced us as 'one' nation.
Hot national cakes, we have
This, many, in flacades strive,
Safe-guarding all our money
For a loothocratic hegemony
They eat flesh, but we, a bone
Yet our face negates our tone
In our self-acclaimed litigation
That saves not our dear nation
While assessing the messed,
Are we really blessed?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem