(I remember writing this poem for a competition when I was 12 yrs old. Although I didn’t win the competition, I developed a craze for writing poems. Today, as I was cleaning my old drawers, I found my poem book. This poem isn’t perfect, but it sure is one of the things I love.)

My City Belongs To The One,

Whose Song Was Heard By None,

Who Had No Fun In Their Life,

And Was Betrayed By Their Husband Or Wife,

Who In Their Lives Always Used To Fail,

And Walked Away With Heads Bowed Down And Pale,

Who Cried Loudly Within On The Roads At Night,
And Died To See A Shining Star Or A Sunlight,

Whose Families Were Washed Away In Floods,
Or In Great War Saw Their Son’s Blood,

Who Was Thrown Into A Hole So Deep,
So That No One Could Hear Them Cry Or Weep,

Who Was Always Treated As A Big Fool,
And Was Left With Hearts Broken And Cool,

Whose Life Was Always Full Of Pain,
And All Their Service And Tears Went Down In Vain,

Whose Sons Threw Them In The Dark,
And Was Left Lonely And Crying Besides The Tree’s Bark,

For Whom Shut Were All The Gate,
And Them All The People Used To Hate,

I Sing This Song To You And Your Cry,
And Salute You All Not Because You Did Try,

But You Forgave All Those People In Every Way,
And Always Prayed For Them Day By Day,

So I Give This City Forever In Your Hand,
And From Now On This Is Your Own Motherland.