Which riot, stir, the horses hooves
Squelching o’er, shore’s, squirming sand
Dark caravan, of the Samurais, moves
From the farms, of faith, to war’s wasteland!

The looming storm, sighs a, solemn psalm
Whilst, dry swords yearn, to sate, their thirst
Watch warriors, vanquish, straitlaced qualm
Stark shadows, kindled by, blood-lust!

Why cross, the sea, when the tide, is low
Is it stealth, or a, spineless ‘stratagem’
Such knights, of night, cuckolds only know
War’s a mistress, of, manly mayhem!

It ain’t sugar, that makes, blood, sweet
But the substance, of, life’s alchemy
Faith lay trampled, underneath, fear’s feet
O’er Silent Salt, Of The, Sleeping Sea!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra