I will wear my heart on my sleeve,
Heavy with melancholy, tear and wear, I cry to leave,
Christened with blood and sweat, the price of greatness,
My mind milled by wondering endless thoughts,
Cracked palms, sleepy eyes and a broken soul... Hopeless!
Why then am I offended? Why do I complain?
All I wanted was a chance but pain was my gain,
Nobody said it was an easy ride,
Comrades down their rifles, carried by an eternal tide,
Applause to the generals, their word our guide.
The virtuous one forbids to spill another’s blood,
Descendants of culture and valour, proud and loud,
Blindly match to strangle their own for the white knight,
Before our children, though in rags and pain, we’re sorry,
Our fathers, disdained by us in the winter rain.
I want to stand tall, but my legs are feeble,
Even with a rifle, my cracked palms tremble,
A culture bleached , our dreams drown in desolation,
We lost the ancient, the magical moments in a lagoon of captivity,
Broken, feeble, and restless, who will emancipate our hopeless hearts?
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