LOST BATTLE

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                  I
Brewing deciet from the holy pots
Calming the tides of angry voices
Claiming purity in woven garments,
Bleaching the sights we long to percieve.
Leaving us at the peak of lonliness.
Yet ye claims we have swayed from the true path.
Day and night we wail;
Clothing ourselves with white man sense,
Yet lacking its essence.
Our hands itch for its share

                   II
For you have engulfed our ambitions
Creating a world of seceit and lust
Our native land regrets its evolution.
Thine ways are cruel
Exceeding the wonders if Gaza
Killing us from within
Still we live to declare the end.
Laugh we at the taught of the tomorrow
When our destination has ended in a ditch.

                    III
Thee has turned and payed no heed
Though the gong plays at your backyard.
You carry yourself about as heroes.
But ye are bearers of doom.
Beware! of flaring nostrils.
Hide, for thundering claps approach.
Seek solitude of peace

For we burst with rage
Smoking with ego  worth  ages

The Haymaker © 2014

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