The Visitors

Adorned in all black over the white shirt,

No, they are not the lawyers on the seaside front.

Atop the black and very fine horses.

Destination is there assuring new morning.

The travellers contrast the place of the sight-scene.

The sheer richness outshines the brazeness of the surrounding.

Unprotected hemlets confronting the mighty sea

Rhyme out the time of horrendous colonial beats.

Why are they here in front of navigable waters ?

Are they uprooting back or bringing the alien roots in the local sphere?

From far on seas something seems to coming near.

What is it; their parcel to create more fear.

The fear of loosing one's pride and the freedom.

The fear from holding up own spears.

The fear leading places to be unsheltered and unguarded.

The fear of trusting someone assuming fair and justly demanding.

The horses walk ahead leaving mortle traces of the visit.

The sand being there all deceiveing and unyeilding.

The shackles would be shipped and the magic cloak would be geared.

The nativeness would be garbed in the guise of civilised beer.

Oh! the people come out of the slumber.

Catch the robbers in the day-light wonder.

Claim the silence precursoring a tempest.

Shout out loud and push away the evil preachers.

The water should be guarded, the isolation must be checked.

The natives should be decked up to enrich the place.

The traces of the visitors will come and go.

Need is to identify the breed of the horse.