Cursed be the the happy slaves!
They dug happily;
Their own graves
To avoid the lashes of the overseer.
Death seemed a better atonement to their suffering;
The other alternative to subduing to the bureaucrats.
And braver still to challenge the waters
And brave the storms of the oppressors.
They neither complained, grunted nor whined.
Neither were they whimsical at the rape raids,
their malnourished children, leaking huts,
their tattered clothes nor their weary muscles.
They watched and clapped as the oppressors grabbed their lands;
Married their wives and daughters.
Neither did they object their sons being taken to the battlefields.
They smiled as their ego was subdued and their rights divested.
It’s a pity how the freebies,
and sweets smoothened their cracked lips sweetening their bitter hearts;
a rancor they traded for timidness; the choice to enjoy at their comfort zones.
The happy slaves sold their birthright;
Slaving their descendants to paupertry on the pavements.
I laugh because the children, and their children’s children beg their brave descendants.
The happy slaves are selling their birthright.
They still smile and turn away from the anguish and torment of their own selves and their people.
The happy slaves are cursed!