Basket of blood

By Paul Liam

ONCE again, anarchist rhymes
Have overwhelmed the sky
Torrents of tears, blood and smoke
Have watered the womb of the valley
For a harvest of corpses and griefs

Two hundred seeds of pain have been cultivated
To nurture the next harvest seasons
To feed the nozzles of Avtomat Kalashnikova
To perpetuate a legacy of blood

As these ceremonies of doom lingers
Drumming the carnage of feeble limbs
Yet to master the allegory of grief
As infant wails affirm the brevity of herders
Fulfilling the prophesies of ancestral beliefs

Till this basket becomes a sea of graves
Cows and alien ideologies fattened by
Memories of sapless women in unmarked graves
This basket no longer bears food
It is a harbinger of blood and the unripe dreams
Of souls offered as libation to the gods of hedonism

Tomorrow is another harvest day
The withering crops are ready for harvest
The mourners are ready to sing dirges
Of the chosen ones whose end has come