The Land Where No Young Man Cries — From Raw to Refined

Sometimes writing comes out raw, imperfect, as words are rapidly rushing to either a piece of paper or a dim light screen around midnight, almost—as if—gasping for air. Other times, words arrive polished and ready.

Raw Poetry vs Edited Poetry

This poem, The Land Where No Young Man Cries, was one of those that started a little rough around the edges but carried a truth I didn’t want to lose.

Here, I’m sharing both the raw and the refined versions, along with the reasons I chose to update it.

Raw Version

This is the land where no young man cry

This is where, they all come to die

See this is the time

Bullets could only aim high

For this is the land, old man come to die

This is the place I once lost my mind

I got stuck somewhere, really hard to find

Where I could only hope, and dream as I

Lost all my hopes and got ready to die

That was the place, where our fathers would barely cry

Cause there was just days, they could only survive

There was a time we could maybe smile

But this was the land, where no man could thrive

For that was the land, with so many crime

With no time to live, just a set time to die

This is the land, I once thought was mine

This is the time, I walk out from it just fine

This is the end

To a very old tribe

Because now this is the place, where they all want to die

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Now, the refined and final version:

This is the land where no young man cries
This is the place where they all come to die
See—this is the time
Bullets only aim high
For this is the land where old men die

This is the place I once lost my mind
Got stuck somewhere, too hard to find
Where I could only hope, and dream as I
Lost every hope and prepared to die

That was the place where our fathers stayed dry
’Cause the days were so harsh, they could only survive

There was a time we could maybe smile
But this was the land where no man thrived

For that was the land soaked in crime
No time to live—just a set time to die

This is the land I once thought was mine
This is the day I walk out just fine

This is the end
Of a very old tribe
Now this is the place
Where they all choose to die

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Improving the poem: What I did:…

So here are a few parts I’ve changed and why I did that.

1. “no young man cry” > “no young man cries” - this shift was due to subject-verb agreement and also helped with the flow.

2. “old man come to die” > “old men come to die” - basic plural consistency.

3. “so many crime” > “so much crime” - sounds more natural; prefer this word choice.

4. Overall, I tried to improve the rhythm, I tightened some lines to make the poem flow better when read aloud.

What the poem is about…

This poem carries weight for me because it isn’t just about a land or a tribe—it’s about memory, silence, and the heaviness we carry across generations. The raw version spilled out quickly, but in shaping it, I found its sharper edges. Sometimes the act of refining is also the act of understanding.