Those Years, Condemned

“March on, chosen sons, freedom calls for us”
Sang loud those refrains, that greatness
Dwelled within our lungs and flowed through our veins
A feeble mind, susceptible to all that it was granted
Kinship was promised, realised
Oh how the joy spilled from my eyes
Would I wring the blood from my heart
To drown but one foe
(Oh how it feels, oh how it seems, so surreal)
The joy that spilled from my eyes
(“March on, chosen sons; freedom calls for us”)
Those years condemned by history still linger on inside of me
I feel it was all a dream, yet my eyes were open
Did I once loathe those who would act with love?
The peal of our thunder, the crash of our waves
Once I was part of that chorus
With fervour I spit out my hatred and shame
But my eyes remain dry; their orders were “do not cry”
Of all the good they took from us
The worst of all: our pity
If power lies in verse
Does once a hunger turn to horror?
I boarded the ship in cheerfulness
Gone are those happy hours
I was born
I was blessed
There was God
I was wrong
I was wronged