The Book of Lamentation Chapter 65
Woe unto the land, for her streets are paved with promises,
Yet her children drink from broken cisterns.
The wells are dry, the lamps dim,
And the cries of the poor rise like incense unreceived.
Corruption sits at every corner,
Like merchants of deceit weighing lies on golden scales.
Judges sell justice for coins,
Leaders feast while widows gnaw at shadows.
We are dependently independent,
A nation chained by the hands that claim to free her.
The anthem is sung with cracked voices,
But the stomach is empty,
And the flags wave over graves of forgotten dreams.
Basic needs are luxuries;
Water is a pilgrimage,
Light is a visitor who forgets to stay,
Hospitals are tombs disguised with paint,
Schools, mere echoes of what they ought to be.
Tribalism, ethnicity, nepotism
The three-headed beast devouring unity.
Brother turns against brother,
Appointments are crowns for kinsmen,
While merit weeps at the gate, unclothed.
And religion becomes a sword
Fanatics build walls in the name of heaven,
Preachers trade paradise for tithes,
And the faithful drown in rivers of division.
O land, how long shall you stagger?
How long will your watchmen slumber?
Your future is pawned to yesterday’s thieves,
And your hope is mortgaged to tomorrow’s liars.
As I write,
For in lamentation there is remembrance,
And in remembrance, the seed of better future is bury in hope
Perhaps the bones will rise,
And Chapter Sixty-Five will be the last
Of endless mourning .
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