The Sword Is On the Field

For those who should Be on watch In our defense Opted for a romance with her Chasing the treasures on her neck In an endless discovery The Sword is on the field…. For they have trodden the path Of small is not beautiful In a parasitic center Drunk with wine in which Is dissipation While the sword drinks in mirth The blood of contemporaneity Our confessed sentinels Have refused to stand Girding their waists with altruism These voluptuous sentinels Forgot, The river that draws the battle line With its origin will not live to grind the axe The Sword is on the field For they decided To sheath their sword Even the shield and the helmet Watched intrepidly at the ordnance Shaking their heads in utter dismay The Sword is on the field It is yet to be satiated For the elects Shod their feet Verbalizing false gospel of oneness With unedifying necessities That imparts no grace to the hearers The Sword is on the field…. And the field in ceaseless flow of bloodied democracy In ceaseless flow with dumdum bullets The master’s sword of legitimacy Is undermined And the sword bruised sanctity Still, The Sword is on the field! Where shall we run? When small is not beautiful We sanctify the field But the blood Would not cease to flow