Jade

The wind blows silent, across our fences, who cares of its caress, it starts in darkened cellars, what cast as we bend, flowers to the mad jealous, do armed enemies jar us, encouraged by friends, like jackals to the rush, across our coffin lands, nothing is sensitive, to a gangster’s brutal stance, the world still wants us, dressed to offend, their stupid advances, we carry a naked tread, and bear no indebtedness, to the inventive West, our life is our breath.