My Murdered Land

The street lies gloriously in ruins,

One step in the soil—just like a travail at birth.

Our murdered land is painted with tussle and beautiful pangs,

And night is mixed with servile fearfulness and veteran buzzing mosquitos at a feast.

Beware of the one-eyed macho-a monstrous visage,

So hallowed and gracious in terror.

Our people bath joyfully in airborne disease and dine with freshly baked infection.

Our feeble mouth war, day in and out,

When your sun is gone up, our sun just walked in-the season of million mischief.