you torture, maim and do your part.
Like a toxic seedling, you slowly rise,
but the tall tree withers and dies.
You swing in air the scorpion's whip,
while blood trickles down a Negros' lip.
You feast on our blood and gore -
While servants from deep brings out ore.
We don't care how hard your baton hits,
we have our pride in those dark pits.
Oh! White devils with a dark cause,
you silence, suppress against the laws.
You threaten and around us you throng -
Not loud but in whispers live our song.
Hunger in stomach, pride in our eyes,
we are on our knees but will surely rise.
There is fire in us that you don't feel,
you take riches but this you can't steal.
Freedom of body, freedom in our head,
it grows without water in the dark shade.
Prasenjit©2022
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