The struggle is for all

Is this the land the gods once blessed the isle where Dhamma thrived? Where four faiths met on mountain peak, where sublime truths survived:

If this be paradise on earth, Humanity’s first seat at birth, what curse left it reviled?

A land from where the gods have fled; The soil stained when the white rose bled. Bereft of means and good alike, where only vices roam

Bereft of hope as hungers strike to bring the terrors home;

In sewers of sin virtue’s hid,

No hope can dwell, no ray can bid to light the grime stained dome:

Ever condemned to thirst in vain Deliverance from tyrant’s reign

Within the chamber’s raucous air where members’ woes are cried; Does it blare the people’s prayer, reflect the people’s pride?

Nay, haunted now by ghoulish yowls, it’s den to all demonic owls that prey from tombs astride: From lecherous lips, drooling lust Flows to defile the hallowed dust

They prey on foul carrion flesh, the eerie feast of night,

They feed raw in corruption’s crèche, gorge in satanic rite;

Without a care, they even dare to bait more fare into their snare to swell debauched delight

The demon orgy ne’er shall sate Till swords unsheathe to flagellate People know not if laws be wrong or whether laws be right but know it doesn’t to all apply nor hold in equal fright:

Godly honour’s unwritten code, The morals etched unseen in bold From vile abodes take flight:

The righteous alone must rage ‘gainst justice held captive in cage

So wait not for the bugle call nor for the trumpet blast

Seek not free air in ‘nother’s shade tarry not to be asked:

Stage now the holy rights crusade, Rise to transcend the barricade, with colours nailed to mast: The war’s begun to struggle brave Ere Lanka inherits the grave.