Awash are streets, with grief, and gore
Where an ethos, is crucified, each day
Brazen bulls, speared by, mean matador
Lay strewn, martyred, in a, spent melee!
It seems, a nation, lost its soul
A mother, mourns, her posterity
Daring, Satan’s sin, stubborn skulls, roll
When temerity, defies, barbarity!
A man, has to die, for the rest, to wake
Blood is, the fuel, of revolution
With blistering feet, fear’s embers, who rake
Seize the, Holy Grail, of redemption!
Will never ever, dry, passion’s substance
In the, bloodline of, human ‘heresy’
Fear can’t, vanquish, faith’s forbearance
In The Blood-Epics, Of, Democracy
© 2021 Vikas Chandra