I traveled past the highland, the vale passes,

Strange alien voices I overheard.

My people lost in muses, but these alien eagles

Indifferent to the approaching thunder they would call.

 

To the red color rain frequenting our place

With reproach, ridicule and gibe their acts spoke.

Thought blind should we say

Or benighted and ineptly incogitant they are?

Their marches trampled buds and saplings,

Erased many gardens of bloom

The clanking of armory,

The noise of the alien war metal sung a death tune

 

Our attires are blood soaked they don’t see,

Our souls injured by draggers of deceit.

For them we are mortuary harvest,

A head count of culled heads is all they see.

Our bodies may have been forced to wither soon,

Souls are bound to live eternity

 

Departed souls living in faith,

Etching in us the tablet of belief,

The baton passing frames of time

The aliens refuse oblivion that stares their acts,

The lemming fate that they all shall reap

 

The soul shall live, the garden shall bloom again

Shall bloom again

~S~
25th August 2011

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