New Occidental Poetry

Altar of Vengance

Come winter snow,
and come mountain man.
Let the blood flow
and turn sour the Oxus.

We have returned to the land of Alexander
to decapitate you, highlander.
These steppes are our land;
you, usurper, cannot stay.

The wrath of the Anglo-Saxon, which is slow-burning,
demands a returning—
a body for body, soul for soul
until the shame of the Bala Hissar is expunged.

We will not enter Jalalabad like some ragged ghost;
we will fight until we can toast
from cups made from your bones
and drink wine in your holy house.  

The revenge ends when we say,
even if that day
never comes.

- Benjamin Welton