To a Freedom Fighter
You drink a bitter draught. I sip the tears your eyes fight to hold, A cup of lees, of henbane steeped in chaff. Your breast is hot, Your anger black and cold, Through evening's rest, you dream, I hear the moans, you die a thousands’ death. When cane straps flog the body dark and lean, you feel the blow. I hear it in your breath.
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