Blood lettings in the distance drawing near,

Preceded by an almighty sandstorm;

Many flee in its wake,

Some wait it out,

Fewer still seek it out;

No matter who, no man chooses misery for him and his, if he can help it;

Desperate inhabitants of an oasis amidst a frightening, unending, sandstorm,

Risking all in pursuit of sanctuary,

While rulers far and wide fuel the winds of chaos this way and that,

Few will offer water to quench the searing thirst of the dispossessed,

Even in the lands of plenty,

For chaos is evidently cheaper to fuel than salvation is,

When the mother of democracy has birthed a generation of stillborn leaders,

Nurturing inaction, if not yet full indifference to this exodus;

We might as well be ruled by stone mannequins!