My name is unwritten
and my story is unsung
I am unknown and always unwon.
People forget who I am,
and people group me with a term.
I am part of a whole,
but me, myself, I am also one soul.
A war child I may be,
and at gun shots I was born,
but my mother loved me more,
protected me against all,
saved me from violent calls,
while my father died for the cause.
I have a story to tell.
Filled with pain and filled with loss.
In a heap of bewildering hurt and chaos.
Remember each story hurts,
yet each is equally real.
There may not be a cure as yet,
but we can all pray for peace.
For that lost war child
For that searching soul
And so that my story may be told.
‘We the people have legitimate demands and we would like to tell the government what to do. Our freedom is not up for negotiation’.
I’ve never been that good with maths, numbers and things
so it’s quite frustrating for me when I think about how much can hinge
on these digits, these facts and all these figures…
like the sound of how many bullets? and how many fingers pulled the trigger?
But hey, I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t
So let’s carry on ignoring the brutal truth so that we don’t choke.
Because after all it’s important that the rich don’t become broke
So I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t.
I’ve never been that good with expressing my words.
Because, you can scream, and you can shout, but your voice won’t be heard…
Sometimes I think my voice is like my soul, so I bury it deep.
But if my eyes are the window to my soul, does it fall out when I weep?
So now I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t
But once someone realises that ‘to live’ does not mean ‘to cope’.
You’ll be praying that we stop fighting and wanting us to give up hope.
Because we know we won’t be damned if we do, only damned if we don’t.