The Silence That Roared

They slit the throat of the night’s voice,

Crimson spilled where truth once stood.

Richard, son of our soil,

A beacon of courage snuffed by cowards' hands,

Now his song echoes in the silence,

A whisper that thunders in our hearts.

Oh, government of iron fists and deafened ears,

Must justice bleed for your comfort?

Must truth be buried beneath your throne?

You, who wrap yourself in laws like a shroud,

Yet your deeds reek of daggers and shadows.

The wind has carried his cries to the mountains,

The rivers murmur his name to the sea.

Molo weeps, its soil soaked with betrayal,

Yet the seeds of resistance sprout in every tear.

You cannot uproot the will to rise—

Even the most brutal storm spares the roots.

His young ones will grow beneath this scorched sky,

But their father’s dream will feed their hunger.

For every voice you silence,

A thousand tongues will rise,

For every light you snuff,

The stars will burn brighter.

People of the soil, sons and daughters of defiance,

Do not let their whips scar your spirit.

Do not let their lies poison your fire.

Stand, even when the night feels endless.

March, even when the road is laced with thorns.

Speak, for silence is the grave they dig for us all.

Richard is not gone—

He lives in the courage of every clenched fist,

In the fire of every truth-teller’s eyes.

Let his blood not scream in vain,

Let it water the tree of freedom,

Whose fruit no tyrant can pluck.

Rise, people!

Rise and roar!

For the silence they sought,

Is the thunder we will become.

©Bunguswa.™