A land far away, isolated, surrounded by water bodies.
She stands on her own, filled with history lost on it inhabitants.
As rivers go back and forth on its shores, home for sea creatures.
Leaving it marks on the black rocks along its coastal terrain.
Voice of the ocean roaring far away, the cries of our forefathers lost in it.
But we could still hear their voices, faintly, as it re-echos on the other side. On a wooden boat, the journey to and fro as they sing the song of hope for generations to come.
Mother earth so gentle and her womb so fertile, untouched beaches, sands shining in their innocence, a land so green it could grow anything yet! her children are dying of hunger with their dreams. Dreams that could build this nation.
Trees with nail marks left in memorial, a souvenir, as they left a message, a lesson for the future. As if to tell us they were here before us, they squeezed and gnashed their tooth hoping somebody could hear them, free them from the clutches of slavery. Bloody canes in the hands of the master, soak with sweat and tears, all these trees could do was to bear witness sadly, they could only provide shade under the heat.
The decay, remnants, and relics of what used to be a bustling city, streets are looking straight ahead as if they will foretell the possibilities of tomorrow, but the wreckage of the past is still present and that is all they could see.
This land of ours is rich in everything but poor in everything, this land is lost on us, yes! This land has thought us not to be the echo but the voice. This land has brought forth Kings and Queens. This land I carry with me everywhere I go.This land will stay with me forever. This land is me, but yet this land is Bonthe.