The uncultivated leaders rule the flock through the days dark,
People cried, and hid behind nothingness,
It is like to a blank call, with a mysterious message,
The ill-bred may infer it void, but I watch disturbed.

No discovery of reason to put up there on course for the dark power,
Corrupt mind mouse of a clan, the greedy foreign fox and toothless tiger;
The debris of the power sow as they haul for the ill-gotten gains,
The brood of the white fox, and she with her ill-widen wings.

I view in them the same old game, a clamour of the growing black balance sheet,
The compress of my mind to the nation pounced a hundred doubts,
Even the best was scorned I tried to argue them,
Which is easiest, nearest, cheapest and commonest to all and Me.

Of humans, those live like animals or taste the sea of chaos,
Of the scrap-dealers, meat-sellers, or fabricators of knives, and
The mob of rioters corrupts, traitors and divisive dons;
They can party and bed with them years in and years out.

All going for opportunities, paying for huge returns,
Embellishing themselves to confer themselves on the top that will seize them,
Not thinking the world to fall to their good or bad will,
Spreading it liberally perpetually.

The chaste herd’s chants in the highest lob,
The secularists dress their stage, the tongue of their foreplay twists,
Their sick mounting ambition,
The rich and poor alike travel abode to their hunt giving feats.

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The crafty snatches the herd and the shepherd, pull down with a bag full,
The mate follow pacing in the boat, pierce and harpoon are all set,
The power-tamer walks by dark and hidden stretches,
The batons are pre-destined with crossed fingers at the palace.

Out from the herd step the marksmen take their position, plane their piece;
The gangs of newly-formed intruders wrap the deal in bucks,
As the ugly mind hoe in the luxury suits, the dons view them from their dens,
Masters whistle in the dance-room, combatant eye for their share, bowing to the masters.

The three partners with brazen head and ugly tongue works in this case,
They turn their head intoxicated with power while their sight blur with an ugly plot;
The malfunctioned limbs are strapped to the surgeon’s table,
Such is the fate of my nation, more or less I am, and I sing the song of my nation.

Posted in Freedoms.