The story has changed because the dreamers are gone
The peace wave is drained and the brutes are come
Death tolls still hang and the dawn is dense
What more is left, if not blood and silence
One is set at war on his enemy not his brother
In reverse, brothers are set at war against brothers
And are in a haste not to brother
Now, what love do we still talk of?
When the air is love impaired
Did those dreamers forget to dream love?
The old are weak,
The youth’s gone crazy
The little; hopelessly helpless
What more do we hope for?
When injustice, greed, envy and lawlessness rules despite one blood
Death accounts for the level of hate and injustice
I start to wonder; what a wicked generation
And I start to tremble for the coming generation
Why hate, when we could gain from love?
The hopeless gnashes, the poor whales
In hunger, pains and bitterness; their throat go sore
And then, when I step out and look at things,
I wonder if there is a future?
The leaders lead and continue leading
In pains; the poor screams and continue screaming
In hate; brothers live and continue living
In craze; the youth wheel and continue wheeling
In faith; the little leap and still leaps
And the people; on their fate they sleep
I heard you’re fleeing back to your home land
Yet no safety guaranteed
A district where little tokens stitch the mouth of the corrupt and hungry
Causing them to betray brothers and children, whom they claim to love
You bring your own blood down to the soil
For little tokens and hungry chicken feed
A district where the hand-to-mouth condition benefits the well-to-do
A district governed by blind species
Yet they seize space
And just to stay in place
They kill young dreamers and dreams
Promote killing themselves and kin
Yet they seize to dream
Do you blame the youth?
How can they truly be inspired?
All footsteps they follow ain’t them the leaders?
The same leaders whose only inspirational piece is giving them guns
To exercise great hatred on love they never knew?
A lot of disasters and heck in the neighborhood
All these from the dregs of brotherhood
Its just like an old tale
And it seems all effort is now real pale
The cry for change is loud
Rumbling like a noise in the cloud
Still a major is wacko
And there is a baleful sign like– No future tomorrow
Because it’s likely the youths will never grow
So sad, the problem is hollow
Regina Charles Brain Chinekezi is a poet, article writer, researcher and freelance journalist.