The death of the young

I put on my uniform Armed with books I set out in search of a good education.

Streets lined with the bloodstains of those who fell on the way

I’m determined to live to see another day

But I have no control over those who believe they can have their own way. Armed with guns and knives They attack me, They assault me, They abuse me, Because they believe they have control over me Because of guns and knives in hand. In my hands I write my plans A singer, an actor, a doctor, a fashion designer or a police man

I clench my fist as my blood runs to join those who fell before My plans remain in my hands Never to be realised I am young but that means nothing on this land.

The blood of the young will replace the ocean that surrounds and beautifies the land

How many more shall die before you answer when I ask why?

My mother shall cry and bury her son before he becomes a man

My brother shall cry and say goodbye to his role model

My father shall cry and say goodbye to the son he wanted to educate and nurture

My sister shall cry and say goodbye to the brother who would protect and love her

My blood flows and you stop to record it

My blood flows and you walk over it My blood flows and you forget it A girl murdered, never to become a woman A boy murdered, never to become a man Who will be the next generation? When the young are being murdered