Raise the single star flag and show your pride, shout your independence. Celebrate a worthless observance, yet freedom is nothing more than pretence. The land of blood and dust, as the toxic waste barrels continue to rust, and the people hold on to the life line of foreign assistance.
Dance and party, rejoice at the drums you so find heavenly, I guaranty you thousands of your kin lay in darkness and stomachs ever hungry.
Forgive me if I see no sense or reason, maybe I can’t exalt in oblivion, as my land amounts to nothing close to liberty, if independence is sovereignty, then as my people die I remain in captivity.
Hope is something amazing, for as long as you draw breath, it sips slowly to your body from your chest, but what is hope when a child suckles nothing from his mother’s breast.
No I see no independence, my vision sees a generation of children born into a savage and merciless existence, while we dance to a low budget charade, no of such a meaningless gathering I am surely afraid.
Were is the autonomy when I am robed of my life and my lands precious property, where is the self-sufficiency when I can no longer reap fish from my sea, questions that should weigh heavy on you and me.
So before we dress in lavish attire, and in luxury settings gather, let us ask ourselves, how independent would we feel in the death fields of Somalia.
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