Oppressed (collab with Rabea)

Let's reminisce the frightful nights of June the thirteenth,
Perhaps we can walk back without shoes several years.

We might rewrite the history, back during nineteen ninety-four,
when London was attacked at the hunger of the Second World War.

Civilians killed under wreck, and you hardly breathed to survive,
those souls roving behind the ruin, how can you be alive?

Starving flesh in the form of lines, they sense hatred and despise ,
fear and anger dripped with black tears from the fogs in their eyes

Your chest tightens up, your dignity, and the pride,
they burn; they hurt whenever you look at any child.

Dreams got wiped with the red mud in the street,
as innocence picks the pieces with bare feet.

They stand at the limits of today, maybe tomorrow improves,
perhaps when a child is dying, the world no longer approves

I wonder-yet, if back in time you could take a flight
would you walk a mile in their shoes, if their shoes
weren't too small and too tight?

For I wanted to pen down a poem, but as I went back
in time, I no longer had the strength to master
the pain I planned to write.

So excuse the flow, and excuse the words;
but trust me their isn't no beauty as painful as
admitting what's right.
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