Tribute to Tigrian/ተጋሩ Martyrs: Eritrea on the wrong side of history


I am lost
In the depths of thought
Why are we on this planet brought
Only to be caught
And immersed in feelings fraught.

Shade you tears
Douse your dress
Sprinkles of blood
From scratches of your face
Profuse all over the fichu lace
Watched from the side
By mourners in distress
That is what you could do what-else?
Gone is the pillar of the house
The future is bleak in total darkness
Valedictory Coronach
However much expressed
Couldn’t bring back a mavourneen
Death doggedly wrest

I am lost
In the depths of thought.
The road I take
A one-way traffic,
Xyst and deceptively paved and marble tracked
But from a cul-de-sac
There is no coming back.

If I were to live long
I know I would take the risk
Of enduring insufferable pain
And lament the loss
Of those I am related to
Be it friends or agnates
I depended on so close.

If I were to go first
All the same in vein
Those left behind
Will suffer an unkind pain.

I don’t know
How other animals feel
But I hazard to guess
Their case is even worse.

Take a pigeon
It never seeks a second partner
Once haply the first is gone.

An elephant cries out loud
Seeing a mate is ploughed.

A dog never leaves the spot
Where his loyal partner departed.
Ergate out to forage
If they happen a crumb to get
They don’t devour it on the spot
Even when hungry
They drug it to their formicary
For all to participate in glary glory.

As I grow old
I began to reject
The pillar concept taught
Man is a product
Of sheer coincidence
With no divine design
Or purpose
If anything all endeavours
Work whethershine,
Lead to his ultimate demise

Why do we proliferate
Until we suffocate
And Burke each others’ throats?

To come back
where we did embark
The delusional dictators
Knights of the dark,

An Added plight
predator with no end limits
A cursed blight
Who drive delight
With as many gallows nights
Dangling the heads of bright minds.
They take it as fun sport
To garrotte,
And slit innocent detractors’ throats.

All animals do not kill
Even those who do kill at will,
They do it for immediate needs
Not for overthrow, a month or a year after, like we have always done.
In Paxos town roadside recycling bins
Wild cockerels, hens with chicks
Wonder around fixed on their pick

Side by side with stray cats,
Never mind foxes at nights
Respecting each others’ ground
Asserting survival rights.

It is not only at the bins
All over the pindan,
Olive tresses cover
There live wild cockerels and chickens unperturbed.

Would man, rich or poor in his greedy mind,
Be able to abide,
Think of another abut to his side;
Given the conditions to which these animals
Are subjected? I doubt it.

These solipsistic lot have an issue
They lack an iota of brain tissue.
Fantasy is their driving vehicle,
And the person behind the wheel feels he has a divine will,
That he/she is here to rule.
This despot
In command of 1000 Kms of sea cost,
Left to rot,
Claims accolades for what he has got.

Instead of revitalising decrepit ports
Build tourist spots
That could fill people’s pots.
Those compelled to migrate
Seeking handouts and support
Only to find themselves caught
In a racial plot of which
They weren’t aware
And about which they hadn’t thought

Yes, yet again to come back
where we did embark
I am lost,
In the depths of thought,
Why are we born
Only to be punished with death?
ሞትማ ማዓዝ ክቀርይ ነይሩ
ካልዓይ ሞት ርዕሲ ሞት
ኣብዒድ ፋሽሽት
እንድኣሉ ትሒንግሩ
Likewise, because of this kismet
We turn vulnerable to a brutal fist.
Then we are either killed sooner
Than destiny permits
Or forced to a dictator’s will to submit.

I am less sure about life after death;
Thrown over as a comfort blanket.

flummox is us.
As I outgrow my youth
I began to parse furphy from truth
Who is corrupt, who stood for just cause.
Travelled up and down looking for earthly sleuth.
Whom shall we complain to,
Where is the justices court,
And who is the culprit;
The earth,
the creator behind
Or both?

The thought of omnipotent,
They are indomitable,
Ubiquitous and immutable
Unique, all the same
Unburdened by a timeframe
lavished with an eternal life signature.
As for the rest of us
The promise of
Life after death,
For good gone beneath
I am not sure to buy the shibboleth
While alive a Nepenthe
When once dead a Lethe

Belay Ambelay

Ants drugging a crump of food to their nest

Belay Ambelay

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