My country is dying

  I see the death in the eyes of the children

The thousand yards stare in the women

In the empty markets

And defeated shopkeepers

I see the lost look in the eyes in the gaunt 

Trekkers with threadbare shirts

And battered soles

And dying souls

This is a defeated place

Voices are lost in the multitude of sounds

Cries boomerang like the rabble of weak and old

Empty echoes

We receive the boot of the clones

For cries

And bullets for our concerns

The democracy of the armed, 

Demarcated between dark-tinted land cruisers and ammoed goons

Who speed past the dying nation

We lay our necks for the armed fulas like goats 

And

Our ailments treated by quacks

We die unsung by the minute

This is our fate in this dying nation