In one warring afternoon,
It was a dog’s day afternoon,
I appeared before your court with my bag of bones,
Drifting in filth and warpath’s blood,
Crawling upon my knees and my labor was drudgery
That roared in stench under my heaving breath,
Towards the end of this volatile road.
I am besieged by your tempestuous whispers—
Of the typhoons, the hurricanes and storms that
Resembles the harshness of your threat,
The calumny of your indictment is fret
With the wafting stench of your soul,
Decaying into the commerce of man.
What ceased to exist is the candor of your warrior heart
That has sought this perilous path in the beginning,
Hence you must banish the serenity of the façade
For no amount of stonewalls would deify your ivory fortress,
An indefensible defense.
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