Dismal

 They will bury the dead tomorrow in the early morning
Before the sun wilts the purslane by the windows we
Must pick them and remember the dead we are staying
Home, and tonight will be the last night of their spree
Of ale and game of craps, here the dead is celebrated
By drinking and gambling, bragging, and these men
Strangers coming from not around here gawk and peer
At my home, my burnt skin and hair, they want money
Opportunity but too dumb for usury they will learn to clear
Their throats to muddy the footpaths with their spit.

These are not my people, this is not my country where
The dead is dead and I condole but anyone who dare
Disturb my peace will find the tip of my spear on their
Head it is dismal really when sons of peasants turn into
Middle class clowns who have no dignity in their ambitions
Flaunting their pristine shirts and shoes, high voices
At the silence of the dead, selling farmlands for money for
More ale and losing games of craps, not their choices
But their destiny for believing in freedom, in fortune, in
Middle class values to be their own, let eternal light shine...