Smell of gunshots
still pungent
in the air.
Empty pockets
collect scars
and despair.
A distant fire
flickers slowly
and dies,
leaving behind
a carcass
of the night.
To whom
we are slaves,
and you
the authority
Our lives are but
a piece of
your charity.
But when it's time
to reverse
the flow,
we will conquer
the fear, and our
bronze dreams
will soar…
We will reclaim
our existence,
our past
and our fate,
and bask in the sun,
no more
a silhouette.
Will there be love for you
in our hearts then,
The day we wear
the same colour again?
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