Verklempt, I get the skrik,
Condemned as an innocent in a land of crooks.
Three ropes round my neck hooked.
One firmly cleeked by a maniac,
In the streets of Eritrea Republic,
Unrestrictedly allowed to walk
Another by a maundering Fano,
Epitome of wreck.
He marchs full circle to break
Marvels others operosely worked on to erect.
The third by a locust plague outbreak.
An opportunistic parasite
That snicks through a backdoor ajar,
Meant to be kept locked tight.
On a treetop branch
There waits a vaulter perched
My carcass strewed stench,
To wrench and snatch.
Day time as I walk,
At night as I lay on my-back,
I fear from the gallows which one would whack
And break my neck.
Alas! I may be gone
But the spirit I held on
Will spread like phlegethon
Awaken those in slumber carry on
The fight until victory is won.
Those let alone
Even the proselytes forsworn,
Would make a U-turn, to rejoin atoned.
To come back
To the telltale light and dark.
All these injustices
For a crime accused;
Asking for peace
To lead my life without being abused.
I am bemused but not confused
There is no excuse,
Governance is misused.
But I take cognisance,
It does no more surprise me one bit,
The world is now led by most unfit pits;
Who don’t deserve to look after a kit,
Let alone human beings with a voracious appetite,
In the face of plights,
To fight and defend for their rights.
Yared Huluf