Analysis of Kangaroo Courts

No toning signs; thoughts rambles, dough silents ratiocination
At dawn, serjeants-at-law pelts into the redded arena
For ectopic judgement
Wealthy ones are against myrmidons' coughs.

Fate is held in hostage, shackled, suffocated by lies
Faith is smashed, wrecked, strowed by backhandedness
Ferities smirches on wigs, mults mutes voices.
Do not seel my eyes, I plea
I am a mannikin, I am a voyeur...
With my tiny eyes, I have seen the penance meted by
Jurists of kangaroo courts
By tomorrow, I will regale my progenies of this conspiratorial arrangement,
Bizzare fellowship, perverted justice, accord of fools
Nothing is pellucid.

This is the hour, another hour
This is the hour, one referenced at red mass
A time to appear in dock, a time to kill and embalm consciences
Sobriety, not a debacle...
Good ones are seen as debris, crippled by angst
Justice will speak at the last hour.

Tears of sentenced ones splashes on the neaten arena
Erinyes, vengeance looms in the hearts of lippy beings
Strong voices have been silent
Let hopes be dashed, but freedom shall come.

We have known the fate of this affaire
Let us move home on this path abutted by serpiginous, ruderal grasses
But there is hope of freedom at dawn.

Feisty hands have been tethered,
All is held in captivity, charged of felonies.
Mannikins keep pining
Why this morass, a mannikin asks?
Our mothers grind grains with borrowed metates and sells
Weekly to wretched hands
The dough gotten from the sold grains
Is not enough for the ransom of these comrades
Who are not guilty.

Everywhere is dark, lights have been switched off by dough
Ghosts and ravens are dinning,
Whispering in gaiety.
There is no diplopic eye, we have seen it all
Free our brothers, they are not guilty.

Mothers of jugged ones are seethed,
Weeping with no sedative signs to allay their souls.
Years have gone, these eyes are still strudded with grief
Wailing is not an objurgation of ferities, be assured.

I have said it:
Let us not weep again, let us return home to our dorp with
Unfolded arms
Let us move now that the blue sky is not teeming with rains
Let us move now that the sky is not starry
Fathers, mothers..., let us go.
After mariolatry, earnest beseeching of the heavens and the
Visits of startsy, our brothers in dungeons shall be set free.