Heed my words, O Adam-born,
Not all fates do the God’s behold;
You make and break what is foretold,
So skywards shall you not do frown;
Your blatant act of tyranny,
You unleash upon your own kind;
Be shackles that you yourselves bind,
And too late for a satori;
In the end you seek a revival,
And the things you done in denial;
So can you mortals bloom a smile,
And try to shred that useless pride?
I plead my words, O Adam-born,
For some paths do have no return;
They sting much worse than hellfire's burn,
So wise up, be spared of forlorn;
There lies vanity in your humanity,
As you disdain from a person’s pain;
You yourselves become your own kind’s bane,
And you’re filled with hostility, insanity;
In the end you seek salvation,
And gets stuck with retribution;
So can you ease the ones who cried,
And get rid of that hateful pride?
Mark my words, O Adam-born,
Your loathe at skin shade brings ill luck;
And anon you shall be downed buck,
So ponder like a knight, not a pawn;
Never has hate ever reaped boon,
Nor has war ever brought serenity;
This naivety brings in calamity,
And leaves sand grains soaked in maroon;
In the end you seek redemption,
And gets rewarded with damnation;
So can you embrace that brother you denied,
And burn away that shameful pride?
-Cherokee of the East
