"If my people which are called by my name shall humble themselves and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then will i hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land"
2nd Chronicles 7:14
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Coast to coast rings the anguished cry,
a moving episode of a forgotten people;
lone tears, sky rocketing gun fire,
desolate homes, a fated epoch.
woe in a wonderland.
Oh Darfur!
Harlot of the world, also a slave,
your shy despairs balance books;
the whole world o're.
papers sale, televisions draw audience;
The headlines scream, in bold letters;
"humanitarian crisis; genocide in darfur!"
you read through the papers,
the numbers are there.
And the pictures!
devil daring faces of seasoned lunatics;
parading innocent guns.
Remember what they say:
'guns are innocent; people kill people'
And oh! the children.
orphaned infants and widowed mothers,
also weary old men;
grieving a lasting yet fated era.
Poor Darfur, my heart mourns for you,
you once lived the better of the proud eagle,
you danced to the beats of the nightingale,
and never marveled at the dance of the honey bee.
you were better.
But alas! the animal in you returned;
and now you have no future.
You live alone against the world outside,
you think they care?
those mines that insult your lands,
were they made in your shelters?
no Darfurian schooled that far!
The devil they say is black;
so pray Darfur, pray,
lest the all merciful God believes.
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