Bound by the shackles of fear,
restrained by achoes of the night.
The pangs of the future overshadowed us,
terror now built her castle in our hearts.
The nanny goat now births her kid at home,
the sun hid her smiles from us.
Our farmlands are barren,
healing no longer flow in our streams.
The cloud has refused to shed tears
nether is our trees eager to take in.
Our land is no longer filled with milk and honey,
the milk has turned sour and the honey pot filled with anguish.
There is an outcry in the desert.
“our land is desolate!
who will heal our land?
who will cleanse this plague?
when shall the sun smile again?
when shall we taste joy again? “