Down my memory lane,
In grey frame,
Stands an eight-year-old,
Savages by barbarians,
Knowing not her wrong deed.

Down my memory lane,
In grey frame,
Twist little babies,
Wrapped in white,
Telling tales of denied life.

Down my memory lane,
In grey frame,
Whines his mother,
Praying for his return,
Believing never once in justice again.

Down my memory lane,
In grey frame,
Stares a youthful face,
Stabbed to death by his mates,
Asking me to trust no politics.

Down my memory lane,
In grey frame,
Babbles an old man,
Lynched by men of his free land,
For having a piece of meat.

No today, nor tomorrow,
Can ever escape from these
Scattered memories of yesterday.