Physiognomy of Some Proscribed Poems

I did not supply the explosives nor ideas for that matter It was you who trod with iron heels upon the ant-hill And from the trampled earth vengeance was born It was you who struck the bee-hive with your lathi The sound of the scattering bees exploded in your heart And your shaken visage was blotched red with fear When the victory drum in the heart of the masses you mistook for a person and trained your guns Revolution reverberated from the four horizons