Heros - Poem by Paradis Winslet


Born, not made,
Gone too soon,
Gone for a cause,
Gone but not dead,
For their courage and heroism lives on,
Their names lifted and encrypted in our hearts,

It was the era of conflicts, deaths, and despair,
It was a 19 century,
The beginning of terror and dictatorship,
The era of an ion ruling hand,
A period of a muddle.
The era of murderers.

Murdered men, and plundered their wealth,
They drove them out of their homes to hills and in bushes, in search of safety.
They drove them to exile and denied them their nation and identity,
Robbed them of their dignity,

Out of greed the ruler with an iron hand,
And a heart of a beast forced the people out of their land into exile,
For 6 decades they struggled,
Died like flies in the camps,
Under those plastic tents, they cried out,
This was a beginning of a very long,
And painful journey,

Forcefully driven out of their homes,
Out of their motherland,
Denied their nation and identity,
They scattered in neighboring countries,
And into lands unknown,
Far, far away, across the seas where they were despised and haunted,
But out of pain and despair, they flourished,
Everywhere they landed, they made it, through pain and sorrow,
They learned the art of survival,
Their enemies envied their strength and courage,
Their new friends urged them to push on.

The tree grew wider and stronger,
Nations heard of them,
Their courage, resistance, and suffering,
But time passed by and the world forgot about them
And their cause altogether,
While their fathers died and their mothers aged prematurely in camps,
Their sons and daughters grew stronger and wiser,
And into heroes, they rose,

Through so much injustice done on to them,
The young refugees realized the unfairness and greed of men,
Out of pain and despair, they acknowledged that;
Their destiny laid in their own hands,
And there was no savior for their people and their cause but themselves,
So they marched, young and old, they marched,


Out of suffering they grew wiser, resistant and stronger,
Like a stream of mighty waters, they rolled on steady and fast,
Through dust, they rose,
Out of ashes they rose high above and far,
They held their heads up high through it all,
Walked tall and carried their father's name with honor and pride.
Refined by their misfortune and sorrowful past,
They became united and determined to change a destiny designed for them,
Surely the hand of their maker led their way through Stormy waves,
Through refugee camps, protected them from perishing to cholera, Malaria, and HIV.

Their maker stood by their side,
And walked ahead of them,
Strengthened their hands and feet,
The tree that was cut off grew stronger and wider,
They became greater and numerous,
The hand of heavens stood by them,
And did indeed lead them to war to defend and rescue their mother land
And restore her pride and honor,
Children and elders sang of them soldier, heroes,
And the way they defeated a mighty power of the West,
How they bent the iron hand,
Mothers chanted songs of heroes and the battle on frontline of the battle field,
They harmonized songs of courage for their young sons and daughters who left for the war to liberate their motherland.


Yes they fought and lost lives,
Blood was shade,
Youthful blood was shade, not in vain,
But in honor of " The Land of a Thousand Hills) ,
And for the sake of their people,
They sacrificed their lives for the liberty of their motherland and her honor.


Did liberate their fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers,
They did liberate their people and their motherland,
They brought us back home,
Gave us a nation and nationality,
Restored our honor and gave us identity,
Restored their nation's pride,
Restored their nation into the world map and in the world's view.
They restored the honor of their motherland,
Though they thought they were dead, they did but sleep.

Are not made, but born,
In honor of our heroes,
Those lost on the front line and those alive.
We thank you and appreciates you.

Poems by Paradis Winslet

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