A home they call it,
But a strange land it is.
One! We claim to be,
But diverse we are!

Voice of the commoner, unheard by the authority
Their tears not enough to ease their pain
Scorched by the sun they struggle all day
And drenched by the rain no shelter to hide

The leaders? So indifferent they are!
Up in their Chambers they drink and merry
The commoners’ hard work they make mockery
Reaping the fruits they sow not

Of their rights are they deprived to speak
And lefts? not fully theirs to act!
in their foes they decide to trust
For friends have turned foes

Scared of the unknown,
They sleep with uncertainty.
The next victim they can not predict
Their hearts with sorrow, they hope for safety

Our hearts are broken but none to mend
The burden too heavy for us to bear
All night long we crave for rest
In a bleeding Land with none to care

In hopelessness and misery we eat our bread
For in pain and angony are we bred
How long more do we hope for a change?
The land is bleeding, who shall tend to her wounds?

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