Moe, fya,
Slo, fya.
How quick dem find tiya,
Tis not an illusion, maya,
But the real world, duniya!
Ow bhaiya,
Who dem hiya?
Dem raise wan bon fiya,
And now, all dem liya,
Does sing in the same quiya!
Why this burning,
Not from thunderbolt striking,
But from fingers igniting?
Devastating flares lighting,
Creating a wall, sadly separating.
So much looting,
Who are hooting,
While also tooting?
Many are left brooding,
As the thieves escape, scooting!
Suddenly they come fighting,
The selected few, striking,
Unconcerned and not caring.
Many sever blows, hurting,
Will you forget when it’s paining?
The dark force is slick and sly,
The innocent children cry,
And ask, mother and father, “why?”
But they choose to deny,
Instead of a response to comply!
Ah, yes, so many burning schools,
But, the bystanders are no fools,
Although they sit on uncomfortable stools.
The cold wind certainly cools,
But how long will they remain insurgents’ tools?
JLALL