 Mother, land, motherland, I hate sad poetry, but if the suit fit, wear it. We want a better life, dammit, can't stand it. Do you see the life's damaged? Seems like hell's on this planet, man made because some evil man planted. Brace yourselves when the same boat bound to sink like the Titanic. So we should all panic. Life is hazy, but before you call me crazy, check that you're not insane. Because when common sense is in common, that normal is normal, what we have common is pain. I can write poems, but how do we write the wrongs done in a country destroyed for so long? Slowly wasting like sand through the hourglass as men fight over class. The rich old men declare war and hypnotize the poor young man to fight for it. While the women flee with hungry children, like they ask for it. To be part of this burning hell inhaling toxic fumes of hate and misogyny, like what the hell? Hoping there's light at the end of the tunnel, but they've been through this tunnel and they've seen no light any day or night. There's no end to this tunnel, it's just a crazy maze. The hell's version of the amazing grace. But they hold the Bible singing the amazing grace. Well, as they hold the Bible singing the amazing grace, they're fleeing to save a generation, the last seeds of a burning nation. Fluently speaking peace, but that's a foreign language to all. The strength of a woman that builds a nation. Strong enough to endure the pain, yet kind enough to forgive your disgrace. So how dare you confuse kindness for weakness. Motherland. Motherland. Fight for your motherland, so is told. Barely 12 years old and fighting for a country sold. Sip from the cup of institutional lies. Now it tipsy, roams the land like a gypsy, 24-7, with an AK-47 strapped to his back only to come back dead or institutionalized. Another victim of institutional lies. Could have finished school like his friends tried, but he couldn't and now his brains fried on a killing spree without the question why. So many things he's didn't aware, but he been told the war is between the Dinka and Noer. Ethnic identities outright politicized and the human rights they can exercise. Fighting a war that got no basis and they can't afford basic needs on everyday basis. The sun on the land are set on ethnic cleansing and before the sun sets it's stripped and murdered every girl and woman of the other tribe. You defy the woman on the land, you defy the motherland and then sings the anthem that God bless the motherland. He forgets that the woman is God, it's God's temple. In the darkest times when the one star on the flag don't shine, the woman is the burning light. Can't you see there's no motherland without the mother on the land? Strong enough to endure the pain, yet kind enough to forgive your disgrace. How dare you confuse kindness for weakness. Motherland. Motherland. Now the motherlands destroyed and foreign troops deployed, the world has come to a decision. Divine intervention of a peacekeeping mission. Peace missionaries that have forgotten the mission. What kind of peacekeeping mission rips innocent girls? What kind of peacekeeping mission tries to relieve food for sex? What kind of peacekeeping mission supplies ammunition? In a dire need to restore humanity someone found a job opportunity to sustain a war of vanity. Insanity that comes down to oil wells and dollar bills. No shame human blood should pay your bills. Indeed no shame that human blood should pay your bills. Take your guns back to your stores, we can fight with sticks and stones and let's see how much of a humanitarian crisis you'll be reporting. What the price is for war I'm asking. They work on the bloodbath of a daily departed. The ground is as red as scarlet, no that's the wrong red carpet. It is the wrong red carpet. Vengeance is mine says the Lord. But justice delayed is justice denied. So where the hell is God? Where the hell is God? Oh we see God bless the God less. But we keep praying regardless of the pain and the agony of the scars left. Keep praying regardless of the pain and the agony of these scars left. Then he says with the gun in my hand I can play God for a change. Take a life like I created and call Jehovah witness to witness it. I take justice into my own hands for a mother land destroyed by another man. But he still got a soul. Closes his eyes hoping to see God like so. So we can ask him to not let his heart turn cold before his heart is frozen and let it go. He's strong enough to endure the pain, kind enough to forgive your disgrace. So how dare you confuse kindness for weakness. Thank you.