By armstrong • 2nd Mar 2019 • 245 views • 38 comments


The mercenaries are back
with barefooted troops of fools,
fools, who with their tiny necks
carry the loads of barren cows
sweating in slavery, struggling
to impress the gods of their grief.

Broken and battered
in the intrigue of religion
and in defense of tribesmen
who without mincing words
has declared draught and death
upon them that dance to their praise
and them that dare them in their face.

The fools; we berate them
we laugh at them, we insult them,
we mock them, yet, it’s them that we stoop and serve.
They fight us for themselves
They kill us for themselves
They claim us and our lands for themselves
And, and, and we also
fight for them against ourselves
brewing the blood of our sons and daughters,
of our worth and women
In the trajectory of treachery and greed
for the favor of their coin and creed.

They flesh our strife
muttering maledictions to themselves
as they trod the political passages of conspiracy.
We flesh their smiles
hoping to transmogrify the jeremiad
of the undesirable union.
And when they gather in sedition
whispering the shift of our fate
in their abysmal lot
we must love them that hate
as they hate them that love.

While they supreme over us with steels
Lord over us with threats
we stand enthralled in the smokes of their wit
in the puff of the ineluctable marriage
of a baboon to a monkey.

Let us cry
for the wasted blood of our brothers
who dared to be silently audible
in expiating the sacrilege of our fathers
who brought us together
feigning blindness to the discrepancy
between those who fight for their gods
and those whose gods fight for.

Let us cry
for the democracy that died at birth
savagely murdered by bigotry
hastily buried by religion
and replaced by the despicable law of lord and slave.

Let us cry
for the execrable omen
for our emasculation
for our miserable fate
fate of people cursed by their neighbors
fate of people cursed by cankerworms
who finagled their way to the heart of our treasures.

Let us cry
for the scars in the stars
for the mug of our minds
for the profanity of the past
for the fog of our future
for the snares set for our sons
for the desecration of our daughters
for the pool pain of the poor
for the rude ride of the rich
for the sore sophistry of our sovereignty
for the low lies and loopholes of our law
for the bully of the bereaved
for the blame and beliefs
for the preachers puritanical pretense
for the surging smile of scornful silence
of them that we beseeched and begged
for our freedom and of all that bled

Author: Kel Armstrong

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