There they were, bruised, battered and bleeding yet again,
the zealots of Jehovah, a mere thousand strong,
cornered like some wounded animals at Masada,
the plateau fortress of Herod, a mighty king!
The cruel legion from Rome had fifteen thousand men,
plotting generals, soldiers and slaves of war –
they built a wall of stone, six feet high all around
the plateau to tell the zealots, they cannot run!
Then the dogs of war began the long waiting game
to starve the Sicarii rebels, bruised and battered
but the zealots vowed not to be slaves of Rome,
so in the name of Jehovah they were slaughtered
in their meager ranks and file by one of their own
with neither the children and nor the women spared!
Thus the sacred dissent by boots was crushed forever
or was it? Even after two thousand years, I
can still see the sparks of a Sicarii, inside
my rebel heart, it refuses to surrender
to the known ways of the world, arrogant and blind,
despite the perpetual siege by the social norms!