July

PLUCK AFTER SUNSET

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Who hasn’t known sorrow or the failings of tomorrow

Who hasn’t seen sadness in all shades of white and black

Who hasn’t fought fear or the most fickle reasons

If you stand strong even in the sunset, I adore your pluck.

 

 

Our folks suffer on the journey to fulfillment

The nonchalant rulers remain tyrants still

They toss them to and fro like a ball on a field

They ignore the sand grains falling in the hourglass

With voices screaming, shouting and sullen

Our people try to find salve for their swollen sores.

 

But in the end, the sheep is just like the wolf

Scaring the defenseless to flight

Stealing our days and nights

And leaving us doubtful that we made a right choice.

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