Somali slave

The sleepless slave living on... treating
Life as a jailer.
Lying down at dawn waiting for his condemnation.
Suddenly a merciless predator who suck
Their Lives arrives and blows their soul apart
As the harshest sun of east coast burn the
Head grown trees down as,  he is leaving.

The crying mother looking behind on
the darkest Garment of slaughter with a
bloodshed hook Alongside thorn like Spear gazing among Streaming balls
whether there some still breaths
Beneath domes and where they rest after being torn apart for they are his prey...
The result of monopoly politics which curse.

No more tears or sweating
their conversation leads to the afterlife
as it is a mistake to think of tomorrow or dreaming for peace
as the master still throwing burning saliva over dusted skulls
and stamp over dried bones as long as they can hear
From crack not from pain because none cares...

Neither bearing nor carrying children, their teenagers
Runt far and their youngs hugged the New conquer
I mean Russian boss Kalash numbered 47.

They found no where to call home and they can’t feel what Love is in their way to peaceful Grave,
they were visitors to the black continent or dark hunger land.