With a barrel of spices over its head,
In seclusion, it lies, away from the humankind.
None pays heed for this lonely seed,
Its wail is unheard. Or, treated
As the shepherd’s third cry for wolf.
The naked truth lies cloaked in deceit.
Justice stands blindfolded and forsaken
With eyes bleeding from within.
The demons’ haven of an ancient myth
Has truly turned beastly under a beast’s rule.
Once slaves, of an old Master,
Guests they became
And slowly turned to residents, over time.
Bonded with their kinfolk of archaic times;
And turned the desolate to be their destiny.
In times of yore, the Enlightened reigned;
Peace prevailed amongst the kith and kin.
Now the demons have returned
With an appetite for destruction
To prey upon the lone sesame.