He saw the bloody rivers of injustice,
And begged me for words,
"Show them", he said, for his eyes were in tears.
That minstrel of my court forced a pen upon my hand.
And, thus I wrote -
'The cronies grow imperious day by day,
Their ruthless spirit grows stronger,
When? When will they stop?
When they doth kill the last shining ray?
Wherefore they kill their brothers from different religions?
Up in arms - bloody knives and swords and spears,
And flaming torches scaring even the thundered arcs.
Who hath but given them power?
Who doth bestow them right?
To annihilate all in their path.
Whose might begs them on, to crush but their like.'
"Write on!" said the Minstrel, pumped up and excited,
"Weave, spin, show them all", for his eyes were in tears,
And, thus I submissively wrote -
'What lust rules their vicious blood?
Where did they learn such gory games?
Not S/He, surely not His/Her lessons they show.
For, which commandment taught them such lunatic craving?
An avaricious act of rape!
Oh! As I read the newspaper, a picture unfolds.
A picture as dark as the blackest hole,
For no reaosn however bold,
Can justify this modern genocide masked by a charade.'
My hand shakes, and the pen but slips,
But, again rose the Minstrel, little had he to say,
His wet eyes were words enough,
And I couldn't help but write -
'I see hatred under every skin,
Poured into a terrorist up to the brim.
Petty jealousy and frustration reflects, as I walk by,
A weathered urchin on the road up high.
I see it on a father's brow,
Who murdered an innocent foetus.
I see it! I see it in the mirror,
When I simply turn around my face.'
The Minstrel's bloody eye woke me up, as if from a trance
And I could not help but vent -
'Greed grows manifold everyday,
It glares at me even from a dead man's face,
I, me, myself is all that we think about,
But to snatch the tiniest morsel,
Off the mouth of the needy!
But, to build a palace, by laying thousands in grave!
Whence came such justice,
Where corruption was God and,
Sufferers destined to servitude.
Whence came such commandments, for they surely are not His/Her.'
In his vehemence, he began to pur words down my spine,
Through every part of my body, so much so that
I felt them as I wrote -
'They discriminate on color, birth, race, and sex;
In fact on everything but worth.
All crimes in plenty, for they let loose none but the guilty.
Oh! Don't you understand my Minstrel!
These words are just words.
They mean no more than land for a fish.
They mean not a penny for a wretched beggar.
They mean not a morsel for a malnourished child.
They mean but a blunt arrow to an archer.
Don't really expect much, my Minstrel,
For these words won't change a society so wild.
They are but hollow words; spoken vehemently,
By each Minstrel within every man of our society
Yet they are words that we all chose to ignore,
And therein horrendous crimes rule our kind,
To bring terror no more than faith.
Faith enough to believe that someday,
We might just open our eyes.
Terror enough to ensure,
That every man suffers before he dies.'
And begged me for words,
"Show them", he said, for his eyes were in tears.
That minstrel of my court forced a pen upon my hand.
And, thus I wrote -
'The cronies grow imperious day by day,
Their ruthless spirit grows stronger,
When? When will they stop?
When they doth kill the last shining ray?
Wherefore they kill their brothers from different religions?
Up in arms - bloody knives and swords and spears,
And flaming torches scaring even the thundered arcs.
Who hath but given them power?
Who doth bestow them right?
To annihilate all in their path.
Whose might begs them on, to crush but their like.'
"Write on!" said the Minstrel, pumped up and excited,
"Weave, spin, show them all", for his eyes were in tears,
And, thus I submissively wrote -
'What lust rules their vicious blood?
Where did they learn such gory games?
Not S/He, surely not His/Her lessons they show.
For, which commandment taught them such lunatic craving?
An avaricious act of rape!
Oh! As I read the newspaper, a picture unfolds.
A picture as dark as the blackest hole,
For no reaosn however bold,
Can justify this modern genocide masked by a charade.'
My hand shakes, and the pen but slips,
But, again rose the Minstrel, little had he to say,
His wet eyes were words enough,
And I couldn't help but write -
'I see hatred under every skin,
Poured into a terrorist up to the brim.
Petty jealousy and frustration reflects, as I walk by,
A weathered urchin on the road up high.
I see it on a father's brow,
Who murdered an innocent foetus.
I see it! I see it in the mirror,
When I simply turn around my face.'
The Minstrel's bloody eye woke me up, as if from a trance
And I could not help but vent -
'Greed grows manifold everyday,
It glares at me even from a dead man's face,
I, me, myself is all that we think about,
But to snatch the tiniest morsel,
Off the mouth of the needy!
But, to build a palace, by laying thousands in grave!
Whence came such justice,
Where corruption was God and,
Sufferers destined to servitude.
Whence came such commandments, for they surely are not His/Her.'
In his vehemence, he began to pur words down my spine,
Through every part of my body, so much so that
I felt them as I wrote -
'They discriminate on color, birth, race, and sex;
In fact on everything but worth.
All crimes in plenty, for they let loose none but the guilty.
Oh! Don't you understand my Minstrel!
These words are just words.
They mean no more than land for a fish.
They mean not a penny for a wretched beggar.
They mean not a morsel for a malnourished child.
They mean but a blunt arrow to an archer.
Don't really expect much, my Minstrel,
For these words won't change a society so wild.
They are but hollow words; spoken vehemently,
By each Minstrel within every man of our society
Yet they are words that we all chose to ignore,
And therein horrendous crimes rule our kind,
To bring terror no more than faith.
Faith enough to believe that someday,
We might just open our eyes.
Terror enough to ensure,
That every man suffers before he dies.'
