A child has just lost his parents,
And you feel offended as his screeching scream punctures the air.
‘Child, let me teach you how to cry,’ you say.
No, you don’t tell a grieving child he doesn’t know how to grieve.

A child has just lost his parents in the sick game of giants.
Fist in the air, legs stomping the earth,
He wants revenge in the guise of justice.
You tell him to quit fighting because his unabashed guts repulse you.

READ ALSO: The Poet: What Went Around Has Come Around

A child has just lost his parents to death,
Painfully slow and untimely.
He says the law of the land must give him justice swiftly and at all cost.
But you tell him he’s a foe of democracy and a threat to the land’s already-torn unity.

Have you forgotten so soon,
How the giants stripped him of his parents with a lethal dose of thuggery and oppression?
He’s broken and bereft of joy,
You tell him sorry.
But,
Is this not hypocrisy protruding from your sympathy?

You are well aware of the play of the giants.
The hardened foes of democracy are not the type you favour with liberalism.
You fought the same tyrants with your poignant pen,
’Cause you wanted your people to taste the fruits of true freedom.

READ ALSO: The Poet: We’re the Monsters You Made

This grieving man is on the same path you pioneered.
He knows justice is like a taboo to the common man,
So he takes a lunge at the giants,
Not with swords or guns,
But with words soaked in anguish and pain.
He demands justice, nothing but true justice.

But,
You say he’s a tyrant because he gored the same giants you once fought.
You call him an oppressor ’cause he wants the real oppressors to be dethroned.
Sage, is this grieving child truly a tyrant?