THE COAT OF CRIME

The dew waters faster like a slug, Here on the dry island I inhabit, Like the experience in other isles. Because the rain ceases to come, And all the envied green plants In their resourceful glories wane. In vain we'd have so long waited, Our whites embroidered with stains, And patriots in awe live. The strength travels and far gone, Even in the horses of pride, As our stream dries like a vapor In the face of self-inflicted drought, Auctioned by greed and contempt To wither off roses on the island. Instead of the eaglets be trained, Super turkeys emerge as the heirs, Thus ridicule our kingdom and pride. Shield bought with blood hunts, Broken into three amidst millions, Vividly picturing our lovely hatred. Yet we lament, "Amangla awetu!" "Apes obey," the minstrel here sings, And cluelessly we dance in shame. "God directs this ignoble cause?" Can a priest not keep ammunitions, Now that all seem falling apart? In the darkness of my doubt, Saw I a thick dark cloud forming: Rain of peace, torrent, and anguish On the good, the bad, and the ugly. And I pray that soon it shall come For the memory tree to blossom. In this season we shall be relieved; The Zionists will sing a new song, And rewards shall be accordingly.