Old enough to own a walking stick-
Too lazy to live,
Too strong to die.
She crouches in a blaze
Wrinkled by her nuke-minded sons
Forgetting all her beatings
As she too beats some records.
She houses sons and daughters
Who unmindfully kill the man of peace
Onslaught in fierce greed-
Greed that taunts the peace of man.
Once a tall tree in the green field
Milking and honeying everyday
Even with the pangs from fangs
Of these mowing jackboots.
Mistress of the pale-skinned-
Mistress of many, wife of none
Wistful in pride,
Boldly lazy to change her ways.
Her days are long numbered-
Wasteful years spent in the waste(west)
Her stomach, a nest of thiefs and criminals-
Criminals who steal from common thiefs.
Shameless and whorish in flare
Yet, loved by those uncared for
E'en when she travels for nought
Fighting for the amazons in Northern North.
Oh, dear woman!
Your chambers are penetrated by the cardinals of space
Whilst you suck insatiably
From the dry chest of hungry albinos.
Woman, these years will tell all the stories
Of this sanctimonious earth mixed with blood.
Even in thy wasteful years,
Crawl, walk, run - but keep moving.
I wish I can say "happy" Independence day to this country, but I'm truly not happy. I wish I can sing you a birthday song but it'll be rude to tell a lyrical lie.
In all, happy 'free-doom' to a country that fails to live but struggles to survive
Inspiration: Omodot Emmanuel Jackson
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