Though it began like an epic,
with grand hopes and holy dreams
to purge a nation of her sins
of treachery, unrepented still,
of late it has become too plain,
like a propaganda almost,
whose haughty demands are no more
justified than the sins they were meant to purge.
The same happened too in Seventy One,
the great year of our victory,
when we had let the hooligans
of the infamous Sixteenth Regiment,
abuse the sacred spoils of the war,
nothing less than the entire motherland.
After we had repelled the foe
with our life, blood and dignity,
being raped and massacred for nine months,
we watched as our sovereignty
became the patrimony of
a great man and his family,
whose greatness was stained with the greed
of his arrogant kin and followers.
Then for fifteen years a few men in green
rose to glory, power and fame
atop the hill of gore and blood
to meet the cruel noose waiting to be kissed.
Then in Ninety One we rose again
to restore the so called democracy
but this time around our glory became
the patrimony of a man, long dead,
whose visions were stabbed by his blood
and raped too by his corrupt followers.
Two more decades have past since
and we were united once again
till we let the revolution degrade
to a violent and irrational mob.
O would there be no end to this,
the vicious cycle of filthy politics!