Hoarse cries of carrion birds sing
of Wind's blessings and promised End
to moor at Sapphire shores and bring
the rousing rally to Freedom portend.
But, northerner, have you yet forgot
that this is Ceylon's children's lot?

Masons etched the laws for lawless,
entombed in walls of their own making;
while pirates found a harlot's solace,
and stole a living from the waking.
Is this the shelter of Zarathustran wings
for which deposed was the age of kings?

Salt-crust clings to spattered walls,
and shrouding mist of marshland seeps,
as rushing flow of the Accra falls,
to spill beneath Balaton's deeps.
Know you, plebeian, of your bequest
or do you wander as Ashtan's guest?

While warlords wage for Light's demise,
and discord clouds the demagogues' goal,
when the ember of war glows low and dies,
shall there be merit left to extol?
Don the sabled cloak, and beneath nescience hide,
but dare you not revolt when gilted eagle is denied.



Penned by my hand on the 1st of Daedalan, in the year 666 AF.