Sting the wicked: A poem 

Sting the wicked like a bee 

Then run and hide, and watch them flee 

Kill their dexterity, wound their thumbs 

See them starve for little crumbs 

In their camps, panic is cooking 

Be a guerrilla when they are not looking 

Time is no enemy; it is they who are stalked 

With the cruelty of fate, it is they who are locked 

Their bodies are limp; there’s water in their blood 

Their blaring trumpets, in future will go unheard 

Have no fear for their sword and shield 

They will have no takers when their defeat is sealed 

Evil is their fortress, where they will get no refuge 

Give them lies; their lands, their own seas will deluge 

Every strand of courage has fortune for the asking 

Dignity will stand tall, with history’s lies demasking