Betrayed by time, we bear their suffering with no hope.
Our children are taken as slaves
And ceaselessly toil, enriching their dinner tables.
In their house of justice we are denied the very fruit for which we labored:
Equal rights and privileges.
“Where are they?” the poor man cries,
“Where are the taxes we paid from years of labor?”
“Where are the votes we gave that made the great?”
“Where is the development they promised?”
“Oh, where are they?” the poor man cries.
In their prisons our children rot for lack of lawyers,
From their schools our children are dropped as tuition rises,
And in the market buildings our tables are burnt.
All because they claim we dirty the city,
The very city we toiled to make visible.
This is our day-to-day life;
These are our constant fears.
We pray and cry for a future for our children,
And strive for a common place where truth can be disseminated
And justice meted out to all.
This is our cry.
Picture, Hope, light and support, by Eugeniu Graur.
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