The mountain hearts,
Weighed down,
Heavy as parents who lost at Hillside Endarasha.
Nothing could lift them—
Not food,
Not water,
Not words—
Only the unearthing of their children could.
The mountain hearts,
Had lost it all,
The roads,
The markets,
The hospitals,
The work,
Even the hope of education—
They had been losing for far too long.
It was a Thursday,
When the mountain hearts,
Were given a kiss of life,
But they did not stir, did not beat anew.
The mountain hearts,
Were unmoved by the rise of a new kingpin.
What they needed was something else—
Something like jobs,
Something like roads,
Something like hospitals,
Something like better prices of their produce,
Something that could mend their broken fate.
But all they were given,
Was another kingpin.
