We are the reapers of the liberty, <br />the plain of Messara is our yard, our school. <br />Our sweat earns for us our breathing, <br />our axes fear no canon to gain bread fairly. <br /> <br />We march, as one soul, standstill neck, our eyes <br />watch-towers, we’re as protecting lions of Knossos. <br />We march singing the victory in sistro’s rhythm, <br />the scythes over our shoulders, hands and wings <br />with lutes and violins, larynx of stentorian a voice, <br />we march towards death, singing for the life. <br /> <br />We march to free the slaves from the jail of cowards, <br />in the front side of the moon, so that you trust us, <br />that we are not making poisons in the unseen side. <br />We acquire honest weapons, scythes and axes. <br />Which cunning one would disarm our soul and dare <br />to chain us in golden fetters and call us ‘master’? <br /> <br />We march for the humble bread, the holy communion, <br />the oxygen of Psiloritis, the echo of our wise who say: <br /> <br />‘Our bread means freedom, our blood is our sweat <br />for sowing, for the few a harmless man needs to live, <br />for filling our house with wheat; the air is our song.’ <br /> <br />So, come to march - the lion of Knossos protects us - <br />let us walk and sing for the truth and harvest: ten saints <br />we have, a hundred of reapers, a thousand of contestants. <br /> <br /> <br />© JosephJosephides<br /><br />Joseph S. Josephides<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-reapers/
