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We had no piece to write but a story to recite, Of bricks and straws, moulded to walls, With springs of sweat that soiled the earth, And splashes of blood, And tears we build. We had no song to sing but a dirge to raise, Of filth and dung Without a praise, Darted at us With hateful force And mockery words That kills our minds. We had no clothes to wear But scars and despair That made us scared On our burdened bed. No sorrow for our blistered palms, Ti's for our warfare arms To wave our lovely ones And fight for our eerie bones. ©Mathew Daniel

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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