Standing in the field, under the merciless sun,
from the far right, I see them come as one.
Dressed in black silk, masked and armed,
straddled on mighty elephants, the enemies of calm.
Then I see before me, and a little behind.
I hear their voices and I see them in my mind.
The eyes of the faceless, making their plea,
the limbs of the bound, waiting to flee.
Then far ahead in the distance, I see specks of white,
mixed with all that gray,that fails to see the light.
As the call gets louder and the moment beckons,
the whites are too less and spread too wide.
The elephants keep marching, as their rank swells,
as the ground trembles with each oncoming stride.
As the dark flags flutter high above their ranks,
they march on ahead with their misplaced pride.
Fuelled by power and blinded by greed,
plucking the fruit born of another's seed.
The mothers are wailing, holding their babies,
as the fathers find a place for them to lay.
The children pick up fallen pieces of white,
and make them shed their garb of gray.
If the enemy must stand conquered, now and forever,
banish the thought if the thought is to run,
for it will take more than a crusader or two,
if all that is black is to be UNDONE!
