Lost in the pride of modern fog.
An independent but literally imprisoned state
Led by the blues of western bait
And enslaved bosom pride.
A country without curtain
Exposed to the dark games
Of foreign culture.
A country in tartars
Salvaged by strange powers.
Sudden lost consumed us all… as
The boom of our oil’s past
The exploits of our green pastures
The success of our nationalist struggles and
The sovereignty of our black race
All gone like vestiges.
Our past glories vanquished before us all
Pride our fathers’ fought to keep
Wither away like dew.
From our art of true history
In a dialect similar to my mother tongue
Found I, rich and treasured heritage
Nurtured by ripened hands and sacrosanct traditions.
But “they” swiftly came calling like
The seducing sounds of the church bell
In a chill-in Christmas morning
To brain-wash our hands, heads and hearts
And make us dance to the dictated
Tones played by paid masquerades
With our local tom-tom
I stood to examine again, but saw I
A country led by an office without a leader
A promising land far from the Promised Land.
A people rich in culture without content.
I saw minds consumed with the bloody festivities
Of corruptions and innocent political massacres
Surrounded by insatiable inclinations
But, these glimpse of hope I fear
That we can if we want
Sweep away all dirty minds
Into the worthless heap of history
And plant new trees and pastures
Fill our positions with evergreen minds
Freed from imprisoned morality
And uncensored consciences.
I will wait, our salvation will come.
Until then, let us all dance on this
Brinks of paradoxical realities.
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