THE UNRULY RULING
for the night and the day
rest at the tip of your finger;
and the world, your foot-stool,
does that make you god?
The dawn knew not of your wrath
but the god of the dusk sees the havoc you sowed
on our fore-father's land.
in your cruel cares
lies our father's wealth,
and our future
in thrall to your service.
The cloud may clothe
the stamps of your flagitious feet.
But time shall live
to tell the tale of doom
you incised on the foreskin of our land.
if the cascading tears of sky scrubbed the trails of blood
from the cloud
or the wind buried it under the heaps of sand,
the wall of our hearts are still littered
with the blood which she trails;
we shall show our seeds' seeds
and tell them the tale of your