Where minorities fear
and farmers hang high
Where criminals run free, and sometimes for election
Where our land has been stripped and poisoned
and then fertilised with the blood of little girls
Where lies are so loud
they muffle the truth
Where a tired hungry child
stretches its arm towards an air-conditioned car at the
traffic light
Where the clear stream of reason
Is clogged with the bullet-ridden corpses of those who dared
to speak up against dead habit
Where minds are held tight by theologies and mythologies
that divide one nation into us and them
Out of this hell of hypocrisy, my People,
let our country awake.
By Nazu Tonse
By Nazu Tonse
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