In Honour of Cde. Janet Jagan

(One who treated me like a son)

Mother, precious mother,
So much you gave of yourself
In the struggle for freedom
That volumes in their thousands cannot contain.
Mother, you gave all of yourself.

For you the child must never be
Born to die in poverty
The mother must not weep
In the darkness of dying days
And the father must not fall in chains
And earn of life a shame to slavery.

You saw stars when powers darkened
The beauty of the sky of hope

You marched with fists clenched
Defying the chains and whips
You sounded your voice
Consistent thunders in passivity
You refused to surrender.
You were made in love for the people.

Mother, you were ever there for the painful cries
Of the poor
Cries that you caught in your heart
And vowed to change to victories

A way paved with your sacrifices
A way coloured with your blood
A way designed for peace
For progress and a rich, golden prosperity

Rest in peace, mother
Well have you written
Well have you spoken
Well have you the battles won
And your songs are still resounding
In the heart of the struggle still
Themes of freedom poverty’s heart rending pains.

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