Kony, Bloody Fingers!
Drums beat, smoke rises,
Encroaching is your hardened souls
of blood, souls of darkness.
Young, old and sick, they try to run, to freedom
and safety, for your men will, turn them
to bloody mass of flesh and skeletons.
The people, your people, your subjects?
To be subjects, in graves, hmnn, they still follow you!
In whose spirit do you fight?
Whose liberation do you want?
Your fingers are wet, your bloody fingers,
Wipe them, your soul they continue to maul.
Hear children cry, hear women wail,
Your web of bloody fingers,
Ebbing life out, and flowing in diseases of hatred.
Let Uganda be! Papa your fingers are choking you.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Added by Poetry Lover
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