The many, undeserving dead,
Deserve national outpouring,
Every single poor soul,
Cut untimely from fame or fortune;

No one soul is made more,
Is worthier than the other,
All came from the earth,
And it hath the last say;

So why demonstrate double standard,
Roaring silence when calamity comes afishing:
Abductions, medical neglect, ritual murders,
Innocent blood shed wantonly daily?

The transience of power is earth bound,
Only the heavens will forever stick around,
The sun rises on the day of reckoning,
Be prepared, oppressor, your time is nigh.

Pray that the sun rises in the east,
And pray, too, that the earth spins along its axis,
Make supplications that the moon shines at night,
And intercede on behalf of the many rats in the sewers;

Here we are, people of state,
Vagabonds in high places have come again,
Pulling the chord of our collective mentality,
Yanking the chain of our divisive idiosyncrasies;

For many, many seasons they have harvested,
Fruits borne by the motherland,
Furnished their illicit barns with treasures of state,
Fueled their desires with the blood of the children;

Yet a time comes when the seas will roar in tempestuous rage,
The four winds cry out in deafening anger,
Night and day both refuse to do their bidding,
The earth refuse to stomach the wickedness of their inhumane abominations;

Not too long, oh brethren,
The time is dearly nigh,
That the shackles of our backwardness,
Will turn into tools for our deserved happiness.

For long they had waited,
Many years for the patter,
Of little feet and joyful screams,
The morning seemed long from dawning;

Grandma never stopped praying,
Grandpa, too, as much a could be offered,
Then Grandpa left for the heavens,
Soon after, Grandma joined the celestial train;

Not long the news broke,
Adorable bundles of sweetness,
Sounded their cheerful arrivals,
In what remains the wonderment of several decades.

Every woody green is as the one before,
Going round in circles, roundabout,
She wanted to be the lead actor,
In a tale her character was written out.

It is white as far as the eyes can take,
Crunchy underfoot, sometimes hip deep,
What wouldn't she give for a warm steak,
And warmer place to rest and sleep.

The arid plains are unforgiving,
Lost among the dunes,
Each direction is endless nothing,
But the shimmers keep playing ghostly tunes.

She drifts atop the slimy waters,
Made bad by years of wickedness,
Clinging to flimsy rafters,
There is no escaping this watery wilderness.