Let Tears Weep.
Our comm'nity is poor where rich mass's lives,
Our tap streams like pregnant woman's urine,
Our roads are rough roots of a baobab tree,
Our buildings; ramshackled by thunderous wind
that bravely fight like a valiant coward.
We're crying to deaf list'ning ears, we lost our
voices to pain and clamour, twas pleasure
seeing us behind the gate like Lazarus
and the rich man as dogs of blank iron
swallows our loud bangs on your gate in vain_
Pity was a pitch of pitiless plea;
Yet we cry our tears to the blue skied air–
Our tears came back to us in knitt'ng needles.
The world revolves round a table, that rolls
as we also roll, we are sitt'ng, waiting
for the tables to turn to us while the
wall behind us hear our cries and keep us
company, till then, Brethren, let tears weep.
"words from the innocent mind"