IS THIS DEMOCRACY?
Even in the mist of griefs and pains,
When the story shall be divulged,
No matter whose death it shall report
The brave ones, shall speak
About the days and nights of dolor.
Our Dawn and Noon dish
Sometimes were none,
We lived on codes,
001, 010, 100, 000.
Dry leaves became our beds,
Cassava flour our favorite,
Uncompleted buildings, our abodes,
We died, our children took the life
They died, there children took the path.
They came with promises travelling their lips,
They lifted the lamp of love,
Gave vents to our heads and hearts,
Was a good path to tread, we thought
But were foxes, who undermined our constitution.
They fattened themselves on lies,
Measured their reigns with numbers of balls sacrificed,
Pools of colorful blood,
Lined their coats with dark currency.
And this trip their tongues of:
Theirs of the people,
For the people,
By the people.
Again this rolled off:
Our cat may look at their king,
The dog may dine with the hare,
The cat may wine with the rat,
We shall know not apart
The elephant tusks with the cow horns.
We sat through centuries of pain,
Days of agonies
Gazing at their lies.
We prefer, when the tiger roared,
And sent shivers down our spine,
When the hawk swooped for the mouse,
When the dog ran after the hare,
And we for our life in awry.
Paciolo Pen Saint
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