Built by the strangers who lived once here as citizens
Standing with our standing to rubbish our hospitality
They lied to us into unbelief and belief…
Claim to heal our land shoe acronym is ‘fault’
Can appease the gods and atone our many sins
For our destiny lies within their hands
Programmed our gods to understand strange languages
But here lies the spirits that never talk
Their spokesperson is long around with them
Here my cursed ancestors once stood
They interacted with us, their offsprings
With promises that interests mothers and fathers alike
The virus counted no numbers in locating our trust
We opened our hearts to receive their blessings!
Countless blessings that we could not finish
Invitations were sent to help alleviate the blessings
That the strangers unfold on our holy land
Because each day a weary pony dropped
Left for the vultures on the plains
White men who looked like us, were welcomed
The gate of our home is polished and always open
Even in silence we manage to whisper our names
We danced, sang and our laughter remained
Till the virus unlocked our code
Parley with us inside our home and fires are lit
Towards the holy land in the green light of peace
It rarely corrupted the holy land without rescue…
« return.