Because time and again

we asked ourselves why

we were born poor

we knew the meaning of destruction

we had lived since the ancient days

children’s innocence remained

our guideposts when in horror

we kept our eyes

behind primeval masks  

truly we never learned the way

of fellowship and even worst

we never bowed our heads

to others, those who said

they kept the keys

of our happiness in their pockets

while him,

the one with the severed arm,

grabbed a piece of chalk and started

writing undecipherable messages

on the blackboard

and we had nothing else to do except

to raise the revolutionary banner

again and take to the mountains

until the latest storm passed