Live, Fight, and Die;
But try, try to mottle the lines of the night;
The lines of Right versus Might, and the social norms,
passed down from new born to new born,
to see our repugnant state.

We, the sole bearers of a torch,
which was ignited by the past frames and constructs,
Carry a dying flame.
A flame, of hope and progress, chilled and quelled,
by the relentless and bitter chill of Man’s, no Our,
greed.

So, will you and I break the bonds and chains,
which were placed around our necks, when our eyes were shut
and our ears were muffed by our desperate hands,
the Chains that were placed to bond and bind our brains
to a "so called" normal, or formal, way of thought?

Shall we, hand over hand, climb against
the craggy grain of past ideologies?
Shall we fight, back to back, fist to fist, against
a multitude of trivialities that hide the true nature of our State?

Or, blindly, will we toil on, in a monotonous cycle of consumption,
devouring anything and everything placed in our reach,
never staring up to see what hand it is that guides us?