Clamoured claps

I sing a song,
I dance to a rhythm,
I hear an echo,
It is a call,
A call from a mother
A mother of ideas, and
The curator of secrets,
Peopled by the natives of my origin
It is a call from my homeland.

I sing a song of people…

Walking down the rail,
Sailing across the sea.

I hear an echo of a people
A people sucker of our pipes,
Seeker of our green grassy grounds
A people of humanity… NOT,
Who knows not humility,
With a heart of stone gold

I dance to a rhythm of a people
Whose sea chants babel
Audible echoes.
The celebrants of life
Even, of DEATH!