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With the ever burning candle flame
of faith, we cuddle reeds of hope
and continue to chase
the elusive blind goddess---
elusive as the tick tocking of time.
Our mending dream catchers,
though yet empty nets---empty
like kitchen sieves
trying to catch molecules
of purified water---continue to weave
towards fulfillment.
Today, funerals have become sacred
gatherings---softening kleoids
of old wounds,
blood letting memories
of hooded night riders
whose children, unsheeted---now
cruse daylight hours---
reopening "cold cases"
from the cobwebbed shelves
of their blood stained his stories:
ravaging, mutated vampires of injustice,
sucking fresh ebony blood;
discharging proliferating termites
of the wood of justice;
devouring the stakes of our liberties---
leaving the dust there of---blowing in the wind.
But is this the end? No! Praises be!
For the stakes of retribution
are as of crucible steel:
With tsunami tides of liberation,
we shall rise again---and spill over
onto the waiting sands
of the equitable shores of redemption.
