Motherland - A Poetry Tribute to the Unheard Voices


In the depths of every city, there exists a profound tapestry of human experiences. It is to those whose songs have gone unheard, whose lives have been devoid of joy, and who have suffered the sting of betrayal that this poem pays homage.


This is a poem dedicated to those who have known failure intimately, walking with heads bowed and hearts burdened by the weight of their struggles.


motherland-poem




My City Belongs To The One,
Whose Song Was Heard By None,


Who Had No Fun In Their Life,
And Was Betrayed By Their Husband Or Wife,


Who In Their Lives Always Used To Fail,
And Walked Away With Heads Bowed Down And Pale,


Who Would Cry Aloud On The Roads At Night,
And Died To See A Shining Star Or Sunlight,


Whose Families Were Washed Away In The Flood,
Or In Great War Saw Their Son's Blood,


Who Was Thrown Into A Void So Deep,
That No One Could Hear Them Cry Or Weep,


Who Was Always Treated As A Big Fool,
And Was Left With Hearts Broken And Cool,


Whose Life Was Always Full Of Pain,
And All Their Service And Tears Went Down In Vain,


Whose Children Threw Them In The Dark,
And Was Left Lonely And Crying Besides The Tree's Bark,


For Whom Shut Were All The Gates,
And All The People Used To Hate,


I Sing This Song To All You Who Cry,
And Salute You All Not Just Because You Did Try,


But You Forgave All Those People In Every Way,
And Always Prayed For Them Day By Day,


So I Place This City Forever In Your Hand,
And From Now On This Is Your Own Motherland.


- Felicia Nazareth


May this poem serve as a tribute to all who shed tears, who persevered, and who held forgiveness close. In their triumph over adversity, they reclaim their city, transforming it into a testament to their resilience and unwavering spirit.


Disclaimer:


The art of writing poems has always been a delightful avenue to express oneself. Within the realm of poetry, thoughts, and emotions find a vibrant canvas to intertwine and connect with others. During my teenage years, I discovered a profound solace in the ocean of verses, immersing myself in the beauty of both reading and writing poetry. Even today, the power of poetry continues to weave its magic, providing a sanctuary for my mind, and transporting me to a realm brimming with boundless imagination.


When I was 12 yrs old, I remember writing this poem for a poetry writing competition. I had no clue about the rules and procedures of how to write poetry. I just took a pencil and a piece of paper and got to write. Although I didn't win the competition, I developed a craze for writing poems. Today, as I was cleaning my old drawers, I found my poem book. This poem isn't perfect, but it sure is one that I feel happy about.



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