i was beaten,
i was bleeding,
i was left to rot in a hole,
where rats continued to mock at me as a whole,
i was left alone,
my soul broken to join the One,
so the One asks me ,
“what shall it be son?, death or fight”,
my tears ceased to roll down the cheeks,
teaching me not to be meek,
i say, “i dream of an ideal”,
my ideals visualize a revolution
i visualize a dream of land with freedom ,
the freedom for the humble , the freedom for the sharp tongued but soft at heart.
i visualize a dream of the earth filled with peace and prosperity,
the peace for the patriots but not for mercenaries, the peace for expelled but not for ones living on others expenses.
i visualize the dream of a new uprising,
the uprising for the farmers who shall never let go of their land,
the uprising for the downtrodden who shall not accept discrimination,
the uprising for the poor who have never lived by the sweat and salt earned by others.
i shall dream of the lost cause of the poor man which may never go vain but shall serve millions of his brothers and sisters.
if this war wants bloodshed in return, i shall march the parade through the front line towards the sinners and suckers of the working lots.