In a boot , below darkness.

In a boot, below darkness, a temple of anger.
with my friend, exchange a glance.
Hijacked, and locked in a boot,
A Promethean oven of Hate,
air becomes franchised,
we gulp like hungry birds,
albatrosses eating their young in dry season.
Craven, alone, two moths trapped in disgust.

Limbs ache, bruises seek no forgiveness.
For Tik, the God of Vengeance
we lie in a boot of without prayer,
choked on our own incurable sense
destiny's sickness.

I struggle to pull out my arm,
from under my back to shake hands
with my comrade.
He is a chess player, a good one,
we agree on a draw.

Clutched in each other's fear,
whose contagious bite devours
hope.
We keep silent and breathe,
vision shut we play the moves
over and over in our heads,
a final variation.
We look back and fro
past to present, and in the middle game
we burn thoughts into Hades,
burn hope into a chamber,
where from the anvil
must find a solution.

We think,
and enter the realm of sovereignty.
welcomed by kings and queens,
saluted by kinsmen,
in a boot below darkness.

I ask who are they, these men?
They are born like me, look like me, talk like me,
today they kill me.
Kill me because they do not
think like me.

In a boot below darkness, in a temple of hate,
like animals reaching towards humanity,
we urinate in containers,
grateful for their presence,
as maternal proverbs beat against our bosoms,
we find respect in a cola bottle.
Decency before dawn holds still.
Thankful, that we will not like pigs
share their stench when they find our bodies.

Tears flow, words are not rebuked,
they run raw, sharp and true,
vowels express the winds of the sea,
consonants break like earthquakes.

In a boot below darkness,
we re-invent the perspiration of hate,
find ghosts and poise arrows,
ready to pounce like rabid wolves
ruby-eyed scavenging for prey.

In a boot below darkness,
Nightmares become us.
Every living pulse is tuned
to blood, to hurt, to hunt.

We are ready.

We probe mercilessly,
"When will I see her again, have children,
"get married?"
"When will I see, feel, love
from the state I am in?"
A self inflicted gestapo interrogation.

In the boot below darkness,
Sparrows wait to to poke
our dead eyes. We hear the birds
grinding their teeth,
jittering their thorny wings.

WE stay them off
in the haven of 64 squares.
Sanctuary of King and Queen.
Welcome us,
Order us,
Save us.

We bargain pride with the grey zone,
and sell trinkets of fear in return
for dollops of hope.

We drag on hope
like the addicts that
have enslaved us.

We inject goodness into our veins
through murmured songs
of loved ones.

In a boot below darkness,
We think, and with the strength
of Bishops and Knights we find steed.
We find steel, we find weapons of war.

We become fit to fight the demons.

In a boot below darkness,
we are chessmen,
soldiers, warriors of a thousand years,
with a thousand hands.
We re-learn the trade of "Kumite",
listen to the "Tao" of every game played,
and learn its lessons.
We remember the fallen,
announce the will to fight,
till they shoot us, rape us, kill us,
tear us to bits and pieces."

"We will hold honour til its finds day."

Life flashes like Blitz.

Required is a bullet response
before lead sinks into our skulls.

We will hold honour
til it finds day.

We survived.

Caught our captors.
From a boot in a car, a temple of hate
we escaped through seats, while they fed themselves,
and won.

Day has arrived.
I still have my king
on the board,
for all the world to see.

And Comrade, so do you.