Wage wars. Do not offer wage.
Since their homes are dust now,
Rust their bodies.
If poverty they escape,
Spread your semen in the women of the land,
To claim the next generation too, as yours.
Once there’s no human to feed on,
Your weapons should scalpel the earth open,
It is now yours son, savage it all you want.
Since your weapons may fall short in supply,
Allow me to stock your heart with enough stones
So that no measure of love, hope or faith, can penetrate you.
Plant in you a gall of steel, here
I made it out of the earth you drilled
Greased with hope of the people you killed
Plant it, the next time you murder a pregnant woman
Or impregnate a raped one,
Your hands won’t shudder.
Here, decorate your mind
With the garland of my beliefs
The thread that runs through them is dollar
This garland will blind you, when your dagger dodges
A child with gun, his blood too,
The color of blue.
My will is your command
Because I ensure that none of my men
Does all of the above, to yours.