Will rise

November 28, 2009 by Farirai Chiroodza ·
Filed under: Poetry

Ruthless Dictators
Psychological spectators
In this drama
Unmoved by a white mama’s cry
As she watches
Her farmer son die
Murdered by misled youths
Was veterans my ass
They pour on the land
Like leeches on my black skin
Sons of thieves
With government guns
They kill with no remorse
I feel a sense of lose
We can never be
What we were
When we were a people
Years from now
Our children
With tears in their eyes
Reflecting on our history
A sad story
From my heart
I am truelly sorry
For my brothers killing the farmer
They are blinded by greed
So they commit evil deeds
Oneday the spirit of the dead
Will rise
Bring misery to the nation
And their future generations