Your narrative starts in tears
You bath in kisses of death
You have an affable breast
You breastfeed the heads in chains
Your children are called premature
On your shoulder is a heavy stone
In broken bones you give birth.
Your life is covered in plastics
You cry in the voices of the deaf
You speak to those outside your ears
In your tears of birth raise the leaders
Whose minds are buried in graves of money
They live without respect of nature.
In the name of modernising they pray
In answers of international investors they believe
Our nation has buried holes with grass
There’s deafness of the mind in our land’s womb.