On my way to work,
Whenever I pass through
The Holy Trinity church,
After a brief prayer,
The tombstone of a martyr
My eyes never fail to search
As his eulogies sensitive cords
Are sure to touch!

I admire
The tombstone’s design
A flickering torch,
Whose tongue
Is the  martyr ’s statue,
That talks loud his virtue!

“Holy Trinity
Till I crossed the river of death
Allegedly, striped of my health,
Poisoned by evil doers,
Who hanker
By unfair means
To amass wealth,
I had been
A public servant
Adherent to my faith! ”

“Holy Trinity
To abide by
Your commandment-
Don’t steal-
Was my desire
Also to pull out   millions
From poverty’s quagmire.

Across the board development
Working better than one's best
Efficient resource utilization
Also drew my attention! "

“Holy Trinity
A generation
To corruption averse
Is all-out
The bad scenario
In my country
To reverse.  
A generation  for
A developmental ******
That has lust.

I have come to understand
The coming up of
Many a lass and lad,
Whose rights that  demand
I need no more reward,
When in front of you
This way I stand
Justice to demand! ”

Children of Oromia,
Ethiopia’s elephantine branch,
You have to detach
Your state, your country
From the impudent
And the corrupt
That still exercise
The outmoded
Colonizers’
Divide and rule
As a fool .

A corruption fighter
Development’s workforce
Is also a hero
Like Ethiopia’s
Valorous and dear sons
Balcha Abanefso
Geresu Duke,Abdisa Aga
And Jagama Kelo.

Children of Oromia
Giving to divisive guys
A deaf ear,
You should hold your
Country Ethiopia,
A cradle of mankind
And civilization, dear
Do not forget
Adding up
Is the current road map

Evil doers
Killing a hero
Could not bring
The change drive
To zero.

As a poet what I can say
“Evil doers
Stop to opt for
Devilish way!
But if you
Keeping going astray
You will go
To the grave in
Ignominious way!”//

The crows are going
  to rise up
over the black asphalt
  city skyline

singing into the
  blood red sky
   hearts crowned
    with fire and hope

flying high and free
   flying over
     the mountain tops

singing of the
   promised land

singing for the dead
   but not forgotten

singing words
  of flame
    and poetry

singing for
   freedom
     and unity

Let lightning course
through your pulse
and let your heart
beat loud with thunder

become the storm of your life
and the wind of your breath
let nothing move you
that does not move you

cry when you must
and love whenever you can
embrace every emotion
no matter how painful
  or blissful
    or mistakenly sinful

feel everything this life
has to offer you
both the good and the bad

learn from your mistakes
and bad relationships
and love each new day
and new lover more fiercely
from what your past
has taught you

become more open
each time you are broken
grow and rise up after every fall

never tame the wild beast
that lives in the marrow
of your bones
you can let you heart get stolen
     but never
   let your heart be caged

let your love be a gift
that expects nothing in return
for any other expectation
is not the truth of love
the reward for kindness
is the act of being kind

you will often find yourself
lost at sea
and when you do remember

let lightning course
through your pulse
and let your heart
beat loud with thunder
and be the storm
that carries you home

A blood red sunset drips over
the black asphalt city skyline
somewhere in a lost part of America

where the dream has
long been dead and buried
and hate and fear rule
the rural streets that are protected
by peace keepers
that practice ******
more often than upholding the law

It has been declared open season
on any crow the color
of a starless night sky
and the dove has become
a symbol of
to protect and serve
their own kind
birds of a feather
that cover for one another

justice is blinded
by the snow covered truth
and the color of corruption
is coincidentally the same
as the color of money

the poor have little choice
but to trade their bones
and their hopes
to the corporations
of the new land
of the free
to be owned by
and controlled by
a minimum wage
that only guarantees
to keep the poor
poor enough
  to work another day
    and another day
      and another day

until there bones are
nothing but powder
and their beds
are nothing but coffins
for the barely living

and life somewhere
in a lost part of America
at the end of everyday
the sky turns red
and the color of blood
runs through the streets
as the doves go along
with their business
of the murdering of crows

A crow never stole corn
   that the earth didn’t give freely
The man too often takes
  too much credit for what
    he puts down into the dirt
Wether it is a seed or a body
As if he alone made
  life sprout and grow
As if without him
   the earth would not be green
    the sky would not be blue
As if he himself is
  the very GOD he prays to
The man forgets his place
  when murdering the crow
   for nothing more
     than being a crow
Mistaking black beaks
  and black feathers
    and black eyes
  as things that must
    always be up to no good
A bird that is no good
  for anything but a target
    for his hate and fear
As if the crows heart
   was meant for nothing other
     than to give his bullets
        something to bite into
The man becomes something
   less and less
 every time he murders
    another crow