unbeknownst to my being,
the bloodshed is rampant.
sipping my coconut juice and humming,
I stare at the plain.
the papers filled with slander
my ears filled with jungle beats,
my mind goes into oblivion.
I hear the cries of my people yet,
I hear the laughter of the children,
leaving a bitter-sweet taste into my mind, my mind goes into oblivion.
the kettle drum beats drown out the shots of guns
living in a false haven, my mind drifts into oblivion .
ignoring the flyers of protests, wars and rebellion pasted on lamp posts,
I lie in relish with my book, reading for the umpteenth time:
“my country is my country, even though it is unjust to me”