If Liberty was served on a platter to one and all,
There would be no veins with hungry blood.
If the riches of Freedom clothed every naked frame,
There would be no sensation of cold and heat.
If the keys of Equality dangled in every finger,
There would be no chains and locks of slavery.
But there is,there is,there is.
And that’s why I say, Liberty, Freedom, Equality might our natural-law be,
it is not the law of nature and world of you and me
There are stains of struggle on all pages of history
Stains of blood bled for liberty, freedom, equality.
To be part of the privileged prerogative,
you too must bleed,
you too must bleed.
And when you win yourself those palatial palaces of privileges,
you will blow the trumpet for future freedom.
Thousands and hundreds will follow you in your dreamy-trail,
And many others will do the same.
But beneath the vast citadel of your dreams,
Will rot the corpses of those handful few,
Who could not become what you could be,
Like a prodigious vehicle of righteousness,
That must trample over a few indistinct ants to see the rising sun.
But what verse, art, or story will make a space
To accommodate the hungry vein, the naked frame, the slavery-stricken face?