Mother of Many, hear us
Lend us your spear and your strong arm
Strike like the thunder, Father of Us All
For now no longer is the time for the gentle hand
Our enemies bear down upon us
We are beset on all sides
With sword and shackle they strike at us
They trample the poor underfoot
They reject their kin-bonds and consult with demons
They lay waste to the land
Scornful of the Folk and our compacts with the Peoples
Like ghouls they devour us
Cracking our bones with their teeth
That they might grow fat with our pain
We call to you, Broad-Shouldered Lu
We call for your aid, Tubalkhan of Many Labors
For it is known that you smite the wicked
It is known that you drive them to the edge of the world
It is known that you hear the cries of the suffering
It is known that none among the peoples goes unheard
May the oppressor be cast down!
Grant us steady hand and clear eye
Steep our hearts in hatred-of-swords
Set our course as we stride forth
For we shall not be silent
Nay, we shall not sit idle
This is great labor of the Wise:
To deny the Lord of Rape its victory.
This was actually written over a dozen crises ago, if you'd believe that.
ReplyDeleteWow, 16 hours to write a blog post? Nice.
DeleteThe calculations are, admittedly, a mess, since the jury is still out on how to factor in crises that are subsets of other crises - do they exist as one single crisis, as separate incidents, or are they recorded under a larger order of magnitude?
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