The Holy Terrorist

Dreadful dreams in days of darkness, Mysterious light of sorrow and sadness, Heat from hell, hunts my heart, As terrorist terrorize the territory. Anini; terror in broad day light, Praised, Preferred by the perishing poor, The rich’s notorious enemy friend, Echoing songs of the victorious victims. Currency filtered like a withered leave in the forest, On streets, Everlasting prayer of a dying soul, Anini; as the living memory lies. Black men’s blood, Painted round the four territorial walls, Anini; ‘heaven-hell’ cries for you, The cry covered by the pregnant cloud, Anini; your remains is buried in the heart of the poor, Picaroon of our honored past.