“Fig Tree”

How can an eagle that was born to fly sit in a coop lonely and feeble?
How can a flower that sprouts to sproutsm now wither and fade away?
Not to talk of a star that was created to glitter now rest in the milky way lusterless

Shall the sun continue to slumber, when it is dawn already?
What if I call you the priest and not the good Samaritan?
What if I call you the evil stepmother and never the beautiful Cinderella?
What if I tell you that depression is now a butcher bird that impales its prey?

Figs

What if I tell you that my country is now a war-torn city
With walls painted with the blood of saints?
What if I tell you that the demons of destruction are celebrating their tenth year
of feasting on our blood?
In my head, I reminisce it all
How my deafening silence sealed the fate of the voiceless,
now my pen bleeds with ink from the ocean of guilt

Now my pen speaks for it is better late than never
For my eyes, I can see clearer
The pervasion of justice, the acquittal of the culprits
The subjugation of the minority, emboldens the clout of the majority

This is not a democracy but hypocrisy
My eyes have seen the double standards
My ears have heard the contradictions
The incarceration of patriots and activists,
the celebration of villains is the new trend
And I ask when will all these torturous trails end?

The trafficking of humans, the escalation of rape of cases
The deafening silence of the voice of reason rubs mud on our collective faces
This nation is a giant penitentiary
Where there is no justice and equality

With pain, I paint it all,
The failure of a poetic being feeling hapless
Yet hopeful,
I fight to bid farewell to my comfort zone
As I embrace the purpose of my truest calling – I rise.

©Sir Samson Kefas G.
October 28th, 2019

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