19 in vain

Nineteen is set in bloody strains,
Nineteen will haunt me forever.
This age, this time where humanity failed us;
This age, this time where hate overtook love.

A bloody mark on the calendar,
A deep scar in the heart,
19 as a tribesman,
19 as a lesser Indian,
I sink into the voices of my slain kin,
I move with shattered faith.
Framed by the icy cold touch of grief,
I see innocent blood upon my hill;
Crestfallen I look to the heavens, but all I see are bullets.

The sky grew black and darkened upon us,
So came the blood thirsty beasts,
So came the abhorrent beasts,
Who took all but our spirit,
Dawn came and awakened us
To a morning of raw emotion.

Forsaken, alone and unheard,
We march on, warriors and heroes of the hills.
We march on, standing on the sacrifices of our Davids.
We march on towards our rightful birthplace,
We march on.

The rough lullabies of siren calls,
The blazing sun from the bunkers,
The hard bullets through the fields,
The tears of my people,
Fall as my own
And hurt as my own.
The blood of my people,
Flow as my own
And bleed as my own.
One in name and one in Blood.

Home is a far cry,
I am foreign in my land,
I am Nineteen in my perils,
I am Nineteen in Vain.

Today I am reminded of Little Tonsing
who will not turn 19;
I am reminded of Salpha David,
the bravest among us all,
I am reminded of everyone;young and old
Innocent and blameless;
Who will not see the light of this Sunday,
I write for them, I hurt for them, I fight for them.

Nineteen while at War,
Nineteen while in pain,
Nineteen and helpless,
An age of Agong.