THE STRUGGLE

The struggle was not bloodless,
For centuries, much of it was shed.
Whole nation was traumatized.
A many great lives are lost in the dust.
This soil is red of martyrs’ blood in it.
Our endurance has tested their oppressions.
They’ve hanged our sons & pumped bullets,
Into their naked chests, crushed their livings.
They’ve raped my mothers & daughters.

The struggle was not sheer bloodless.
Though these hands bear this flag,
The honour & power of my men;
Seemingly trembling wielding this flag.
For, I doubt your will & mind.
Awake my fellowmen your land needs you.

We’d made a tryst with destiny,
Sadly, reluctantly seems fading away.