Whispers of the Silenced

In the shadowed halls where justice sleeps,

A heavy silence, its promise keeps.

Gideon drew with ink of truth,

Peter spoke with the fire of youth.

Now their voices, stolen by night,

Flicker faint, like a dying light.

The lion roars, but its roar is hollow,

A throne built high on pain we swallow.

Chains unseen, yet we feel their weight,

Dreams crushed beneath the hand of hate.

Oh, the song of freedom, a ghostly tune,

Drowned beneath this regime's monsoon.

In the land where rivers ran bold,

Now blood runs colder than the gold.

A courtless trial, a voiceless plea,

A nation shackled, longing to be free.

Who will answer the cries of the lost?

What price do we pay? What is the cost?

The quill of the cartoonist now lies still,

A weapon feared more than the kill.

The tongues of dissent, they seek to bind,

But can you silence the storm in the mind?

For even in darkness, the truth shall rise,

A spark ignites beneath the skies.

Dear president, your palace of glass may gleam,

But cracks are forming in the stream.

A people silenced will not forget,

Their whispers gather, a mounting threat.

For freedom lives where courage grows,

And tyranny falls where justice flows.

© Bunguswa ™