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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required ACKNOWLEDGEMENT I know of a place A place so rich and fertile A place with green trees With the sweet scent of nature And the beauty of wildlife With elegant tall black men and women The strongest people I have ever known A place gifted with so many dialects But with one common language of love A place whose immense beauty The Ades, the Deng Afrikas, the Tatas The Piols, the Tuulas, the Aliets want to show A place rich of cultures and traditions Whose history is worth celebrating A place whose citizens have one common goal And that ultimate goal is black brotherhood Yet, it's the very same place Where uncle is the most used vocabulary Uncle is the basis of employment Uncle has won cases at the courts of law He has covered up for murderers Uncle has created orphans and widows He has grabbed their land, Leaving them homeless A place where the youth dropout of school to pick arms Where Night movement is still a threat to the youth I hear they call themselves with comical names The old school, Mob Gang, Steel Boys With the infamous slogan “Panga gatar rhas” I have watched them spoil their future And they're hopeless for tomorrow I know of a place Where James Lado, a twelve year old boy Cannot spend thirty minutes without smoking cigarettes He sleeps in the clubs by beer bottles Lado has run away from home And Deng, that Sa’uud will kill you ya aku A place where Kiden leaves the house at 7:00am Only to return at midnight Too drunk to even untie her shoes Her children are starving and thirsty But Listen pays no attention When I hear Taata cry, I say unto her Cry no more Taata, for we no longer see the redness of blood I have heard the women of this place lament Mwonydiea acha Nyan wee Kek abeer koor nyiin apyea I have heard the children cry Baba achi ook nyang nyinn ngongich Ye nga bi ook lok yath panabun Abuk is the shisha lady who wakes up at midnight to smoke While Duku is dead asleep on the bed I know of a place, where the cynical politicians blackmail the citizens A place where the peace negotiators prolong the talks For they will be unemployed when the peace arrives A place where the national army survives on charcoal sales A place where you will be grabbed by the neck, for daring to say the trutth A place where the bullets, are the unwanted music to the ears The leaders invite war for the youth To them, power is worth more than countless lives The citizens have killed the past, And there is no light at the end of the tunnel And that place happens to be my beautiful country, South Sudan
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