When the, first blood is, never the last
Many rivers, of revolution, will spill
From the, willful veins, of a clan, outcast
Until, fearful Satans, have their fill!!

Who martyred, hundreds, yesterday
At the altar, of their, fascist pride
Have many more bullets, to win, this play
Yet not, their spirit, they crucified!

Republics redeem, themselves, annals say
Can fear, ever fetter, faith’s insolence
The blood, that fuels, this Myanmar’s melee
Is for ages, mankind’s, salvation’s substance!

Whilst a motherland, mourns, her maimed ethos
Mothers scrape, with their, lost sons’ blood, litanies
Land’s faith resents, for power, brotherhood’s loss
A Sigh, Amidst, A Million Mutinies!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra