Joshua Nicolás Prits

They marched through the coldest sand,
First, Hasep, the Highest ranked nobleman,
And those who surrounded, cloak shrouded folk
Marching Saharan warriors left smoke.
Beige Earth beneath hooves of their mounts,
With exactly 2 dozen count:
12 white horses, 12 burnt colored camels.
These vandals of cities used towns as candles.

A quick invasion of an oasis nation,
Dry mouthed bodies lay dead in patience.

On the other side of town, away from assailants
Locals met in a hall typically vacant.
Optimism in youth, groups of impoverished young
Organized a goal with the Abyssinian Nun.
Different strokes and several strides,
Same home, a matching town pride.
They gathered up torches, picked butcher knives,
And some stones to throw as rain from high.

In this early assault of a quick attack
A handful of invaders suddenly hacked.
The poor city youth ignited new clashes:
Slashes and gashes
Rocks, rain, and bashes,
Unfathomable potential for their city in ashes.

The hidden Nun began her surprise
With a gun bought abroad, from the land of the Thais.
Asian etchings along the rifle’s side,
The Abyssinian Nun directed her eyes
To the most decorated man, Hasep the High,
Rifle down to a rifle rise.

In the cunning Nun’s eyes a display
A snapshot of bloodied stone walkways:
Corpses of boys who failed swordplay,
But more dead invaders were seen in survey.

Yellow cloaked, large bodied High Hasep
Saw the holy woman draw her breath
Draw her trigger
He quickly aimed an order with his finger
To slaughter some bastard’s godly daughter;
But today, the Nun would not end up a martyr.

Blast through the dry wind, guided,
Violence riding on the fresh lead lightning.
Hasep’s head on the ground told his 8 men around
To abandon their fighting and go far from this town.