Regimen for Growth

 

 

 

 

 

 

In full-sweat columns driven grumbling over sand,
they’ll find a hull-down place to launch solutions. Tonight,
Kaus is a must where Spring’s offensive burdens the land
near Babylon: men fall riddled with techno-blight
drummed up the reddened road. Kaus, veil that sight
where death grows fat on rutted tracks. Scour eye, score hand,
scourge face. Where metals grind, make misery to spite
their oilward motion, clog every gear, leave tanks unmanned.

Look how they shunt aside our God to crush His fruit;
it rots on this torn ground. Though now that might’s unmet,
beyond the whirl, their force, we’ll sow each field afresh.
Bearer of blood and dun, cast in their way this flesh,
my shot son. Quicken those shrivelled lips and let
them drop, “Where I am shattered, ten thousand more will shoot.”

Kaus – Spring sandstorm in the Syrian Desert.