SPILLS OF SWEAT ON SPOTS OF BLOOD

SPILLS OF SWEAT ON SPOTS OF BLOOD

The spill of sweat from the hard strain

Under the red hot sun that keeps away the rain,

 I gave it a thought, and now let me take you through

An exhibition of my brain.

Come with me, but beware lest you slip and fall

stepping on spills of sweat on spots of blood.

The ark angel of retribution calls from

 the eastern hills, his voice thunders through the earth

in preparedness for the coming of his wrath.

Corrupt leaders have rebuked his call,

They have poured on poverty road our own spills

 Of sweat on spots of blood, that made us slide

And fall.

They lick our ears with their lies

 yet we never lick theirs with our cries.

They have lied and robbed from you, that’s the

real that you should feel, maintain your pain

as I take you through an exhibition of my brain.

Rich or poor, there is nothing new under the sun.

We wake up earlier than them

to recite the national anthem. Like Rasta would say

“Fire burn them”.

We have been patriotic, till this day of the fiber optic.

Questions still hang on loose ends,

It was said we were from rich backgrounds, why then these poor trends?

We work and stain our cloths with sweat till they smell bad,

Why again stain them with our own blood?