IN HONOUR AND PAIN

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In honour and pain I fight, yet live.

I paint the street with blood b'cause freedom in this city needs to flood with red.

I'm black, but my life is red.

The very life we live is exchanged for your safety.

Slumbering and awaking, you walk the streets unstressed.

I'm in my distress, and you guffaw?

Ohh!! How silly!!! Bloody civilians!!!

I leave my honeymoon to a battlefield full of men.

I barely sleep, not knowing my fate as the signs from the sky, turn black night.

Will my men live or die?

What does the future predict upon tomorrow?

Tomorrow will always handle itself, but my men fall by death's sword.

The road is red and the my heart is grieved.

The civilians basked in jollity....

.....their faces tell that the enemies have eaten the dust.

Yet, in my honour and pain I'm between two choices.

To celebrate or weep.

You never really know the full story.

......we went in numbers but returned 

..........the story is never full.....but we're Expendables ........ fashioned for war without a life.

We fight for the nation as Kamikazes and die in honour and pain.

But I ask, is this honour worth it?



BY ELIJAH UKPONG 

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