Spies running ahead to uncover the nests.
The colors of the nation hanging by the rope
Would eight hundred suffice to resist the test?
Soon enough the vulture's eye
would be stabbed with a sword and ripped from within.
But whose vulture will be throttled first?
The common man or the relentless king?
An uprising not too late in time
rising from an exploited mime,
Where the shovel is silent and the daggers scream,
The time had come to recover the dreams.
The dogs start howling at the very sight
frantic in anticipation of the impending fight.
The children all crouch hiding in the dark,
Sheltering their lives to be torn apart.
The last gaze of the moon falters and hides.
The stars whimper away with the night.
As the ground shakes with sheer strength of force,
As the men keep shouting themselves hoarse.
As the sun blinks its weary eye,
As the jackals shriek and cower in fright.
As the fires burn in raging silence,
As the swords glint with a hint of violence.
As the hope clashes with the fearsome past,
As the fist rises in a struggling mass.
The next two days will determine their fate
Stories untold will lay to waste.
History will only unfold the face
of the sunshine that might arrive just too late.
