Owen Hamalala Poet Rhyme

BROKEN NATION

Poem Title: broken  nation
?The flag still waves,but it waves like  tired hand,
?a hand that has buried too many dreams,
?a hand too weak to salute,
?too ashamed to reach for the sky it once claimed.
?We used to sing of freedom,
?now our voices choking through the smoke of burnt promises.
?We once danced under the sun of independence,
?now we drag our shadows through the mud of survival.The green has turned to mould,
?the white has soaked in too much blood.
?We scream “One Zambia one nation,”
?But every dawn we wake to the taste of defeat
?salted by hunger,seasoned with corruption,
?served on the cracked plates of bad governance.
?When outsiders mock us,We rise like lions.
?But when the predator sleeps in our own house,
?We kneel,
?We whisper prayers instead of protests,
?We swallow injustice like communion.
?We no longer see zambia We see tribes,we see churches,
?we see reasons to hate the man beside us.
?Our unity comes alive only when another nation sneers.But our rage dies
?when our leaders feed on our bones.
?The institutions that should stand like mountains
?are now dust on the soles of greedy men.
?The law bends like grass before the wind of money.
?Accountability is buried beneath the marble floors of power.
?We have masters, not servants.Kings, not leaders.Thieves, not builders.
?I walked through the streets on Independence Day.
?The flags were gone.
?The children were barefoot, chasing a deflated ball.
?The mothers sold groundnuts instead of hope.
?No green, no white,
?only brown dust rising like ghosts of a forgotten pride.The radio played no anthems.
?Even the sky looked tired of watching us pretend.
?Now they want more taxes.
?From empty pockets.From throats already strangled by survival.
?A government that cannot feed its people
?now feeds on its people.
?And we, the broken,the silent,?the afraid,we let them.
?We used to roar.Now we whisper.
We used to march.Now we scroll.
?We used to fight.Now we fade.
?But deep within the ruin,
?beneath the rubble of what used to be hope,
?something still breathes.
?A stubborn heartbeat.A spirit that refuses extinction.
?One day, perhaps,when hunger becomes heavier than fear,
?when silence feels more dangerous than speech,
?when even the weak remember what it means to bleed for truth,
?We will rise again.And that day,?The green will grow back.The white will shine again.
?And the flag,?that tired, wounded flag ?will no longer wave in shame,
?but burn with the fire of a people finally awake.
?Javascript @2019

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