[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero

Bouazizi’s heavy eyelids parted as the Muezzin recited the final call for the first Adhan of the day.

“As-salatu Khayrun Minan-nawm”
Prayer is better than sleep

Rising from the torment of another restless night, Bouazizi wiped the sleep from his droopy eyes as his feet touched the cold stone floor.

Throughout the frigid night, the devilish jinn did their work, eagerly jabbing away at Bouazizi with pointed sticks, tormenting his troubled conscience with the worry of his nagging indebtedness. All night the face of the man Bouazizi owed money to haunted him. Bouazizi could see the man’s greasy lips and brown teeth jawing away, inches from his face. He imagined chubby caffeine stained fingers reaching toward him to grab some dinars from Bouazizi’s money box.

Bouazizi turned all night like he was sleeping on a board of spikes. His prayers for a restful night again went unanswered. The pall of a blue fatigue would shadow Bouazizi for most of the day.

Bouazizi’s weariness was compounded by a gnawing hunger. By force of habit, he grudgingly opened the food cupboard with the foreknowledge that it was almost bare. Bouazizi’s premonition proved correct as he surveyed a meager handful of chickpeas, some eggs and a few sparse loaves. It was just enough to feed his dependant family; younger brothers and sisters, cousins and a terminally disabled uncle. That left nothing for Bouazizi but a quick jab to his empty gut. He would start this day without breakfast.

Bouazizi made a living as a street vendor. He hustles to survive. Bouazizi’s father died in a construction accident in Libya when he was three. Since the age of 10, Bouazizi had pushed a cart through the streets of Sidi Bouzid; selling fruit at the public market just a few blocks from the home that he has lived in for almost his entire life.

At 27 years of age, Bouazizi has wrestled the beast of deprivation since his birth. To date, he has bravely fought it to a standstill; but day after day the multi-headed hydra of life has snapped at him. He has squarely met the eyes of the beast with fortitude and resolve; but the sharp fangs of a hardscrabble life has sunken deep into Bouazizi’s spleen. The unjust rules of society are powerful claws that slash away at his flesh, bleeding him dry: while the spiked tendrils of poverty wrap Bouazizi’s neck, seeking to strangle him.

Bouazizi is a workingman hero; a skilled warrior in the fight for daily bread. He is accustomed to living a life of scarcity. His daily deliverance is the grace of another day of labor and the blessed wages of subsistence.

Though Allah has blessed this man with fortitude the acuteness of terminal want and the constant struggle to survive has its limits for any man; even for strong champions like Bouazizi.

This morning as Bouazizi washed he peered into a mirror, closely examining new wrinkles on his stubble strewn face. He fingered his deep black curls dashed with growing streaks of gray. He studied them through the gaze of heavy bloodshot eyes. He looked upward as if to implore Allah to salve the bruises of daily life.

Bouazizi braced himself with the splash of a cold water slap to his face. He wiped his cheeks clean with the tail of his shirt. He dipped his toothbrush into a box of baking powder and scoured an aching back molar in need of a root canal. Bouazizi should see a dentist but it is a luxury he cannot afford so he packed an aspirin on top of the infected tooth. The dissolving aspirin invaded his mouth coating his tongue with a bitter effervescence.

Bouazizi liked the taste and was grateful for the expectation of a dulled pain. He smiled into the mirror to check his chipped front tooth while pinching a cigarette **** from an ashtray. The roach had one hit left in it. He lit it with a long hard drag that consumed a good part of the filter. Bouazizi’s first smoke of the day was more filter then tobacco but it shocked his lungs into the coughing flow of another day.

Bouazizi put on his jacket, slipped into his knockoff NB sneakers and reached for a green apple on a nearby table. He took a big bite and began to chew away the pain of his toothache.

Bouazizi stepped into the street to catch the sun rising over the rooftops. He believed that seeing the sunrise was a good omen that augured well for that day’s business. A sunbeam braking over a far distant wall bathed Bouazizi in a golden light and illumined the alley where he parked his cart holding his remaining stock of week old apples. He lifted the handles and backed his cart out into the street being extra mindful of the cracks in the cobblestone road. Bouazizi sprained his ankle a week ago and it was still tender. Bouazizi had to be careful not to aggravate it with a careless step. Having successfully navigated his cart into the road, Bouazizi made a skillful U Turn and headed up the street limping toward the market.

A winter chill gripped Bouazizi prompting him to zip his jacket up to his neck. The zipper pinched his Adam’s Apple and a few droplets of blood stained his green corduroy jacket. Though it was cold, Bouazizi sensed that spring would arrive early this year triggering a replay of a recurring daydream. Bouazizi imagined himself behind the wheel of a new van on his way to the market. Fresh air and sunshine pouring through the open windows with the cargo space overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruits.

It was a lifelong ambition of Bouazizi to own a van. He dreamed of buying a six cylinder Dodge Caravan. It would be painted red and he would call it The Red Flame. The Red Flame would be fast and powerful and sport chrome spinners. The Red Flame would be filled with music from a Blaupunkt sound system with kick *** speakers. Power windows, air conditioning, leather seats, a moonroof and plenty of space in the back for his produce would complete Bouazizi’s ride.

The Red Flame would be the vehicle Bouazizi required to expand his business beyond the market square. Bouazizi would sell his produce out of the back of the van, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood. No longer would he have to wait for customers to come to his stand in the market. Bouazizi would go to his customers. Bouazizi and the Red Flame would be known in all the neighborhoods throughout the district. Bouazizi shook his head and smiled thinking about all the girls who would like to take rides in the Red Flame. Bouazizi and his Red Flame would be a sight to be noticed and a force to be reckoned with.

“EEEEEYOWWW” a Mercedes horn angrily honked; jarring Bouazizi from the reverie of his daydream. A guy whipping around the corner like a silver streak stuck his head out the window blasting with music yelling, “Hey Mnayek, watch where you push that *******.”

The music faded as the Mercedes roared away. “Barra nikk okhtek” Bouazizi yelled, raising his ******* in the direction of the vanished car. “The big guys in the fancy cars think the road belongs to them”, Bouazizi mumbled to himself.

The insult ****** Bouazizi off, but he was accustomed to them and as he limped along pushing his cart he distracted himself with the amusement of the ascending sun chasing the fleeting shadows of the night, sending them scurrying down narrow alleyways.

Bouazizi imaged himself a character from his favorite movie. He was a giant Transformer, chasing the black shadows of evil away from the city into the desert. After battling evil and conquering the bad guys, he would transform himself back into the regular Bouazizi; selling his produce to the people as he patrolled the highways of Tunisia in the Red Flame, the music blasting out the windows, the chrome spinners flashing in the sunlight. Bouazizi would remain vigilant, always ready to transform the Red Flame to fight the evil doers.

The bumps and potholes in the road jostled Bouazizi’s load of apples. A few fell out of the wooden baskets and were rolling around in the open spaces of the cart. Bouazizi didn’t want to risk bruising them. Damaged merchandise can’t be sold so he was careful to secure his goods and arrange his cart to appeal to women customers. He made sure to display his prized electronic scale in the corner of the cart for all to see.

Bouazizi had a reputation as a fair and generous dealer who always gave good value to his customers. Bouazizi was also known for his kindness. He would give apples to hungry children and families who could not pay. Bouazizi knew the pain of hunger and it brought him great satisfaction to be able to alleviate it in others.

As a man who valued fairness, Bouazizi was particularly proud of his electronic scale. Bouazizi was certain the new measuring device assured all customers that Bouazizi sold just and correct portions. The electronic scale was Bouazizi’s shining lamp. He trusted it. He hung it from the corner post of his cart like it was the beacon of a lighthouse guiding shoppers through the treachery of an unscrupulous market. It would attract all customers who valued fairness to the safe harbor of Bouazizi’s cart.

The electronic scale is Bouazizi’s assurance to his customers that the weights and measures of electronic calculation layed beyond any cloud of doubt. It is a fair, impartial and objective arbiter for any dispute.

Bouazizi believed that the fairness of his scale would distinguish his stand from other produce vendors. Though its purchase put Bouazizi into deep debt, the scale was a source of pride for Bouazizi who believed that it would help his profits to increase and help him to achieve his goal of buying the Red Flame.

As Bouazizi pushed his cart toward the market, he mulled his plan over in his mind for the millionth time. He wasn't great in math but he was able to calculate his financial situation with a degree of precision. His estimations triggered worries that his growing debt to money lenders may be difficult to payoff.

Indebtedness pressed down on Bouazizi’s chest like a mounting pile of stones. It was the source of an ever present fear coercing Bouazizi to live in a constant state of anxiety. His business needed to grow for Bouazizi to get a measure of relief and ultimately prosper from all his hard work. Bouazizi was driven by urgency.

The morning roil of the street was coming alive. Bouazizi quickened his step to secure a good location for his cart at the market. Car horns, the spewing diesel from clunking trucks, the flatulent roar of accelerating buses mixed with the laughs and shrieks of children heading to school composed the rising crescendo of the city square.

As he pushed through the market, Bouazizi inhaled the aromatic eddies of roasting coffee floating on the air. It was a pleasantry Bouazizi looked forward to each morning. The delicious wafts of coffee mingling with the crisp aroma of baking bread instigated a growl from Bouazizi’s empty stomach. He needed to get something to eat. After he got money from his first sale he would by a coffee and some fried dough.

Activity in the market was vigorous, punctuated by the usual arguments of petty territorial disputes between vendors. The disagreements were always amicably resolved, burned away in rising billows of roasting meats and vegetables, the exchange of cigarettes and the plumes of tobacco smoke rising as emanations of peace.

Bouazizi skillfully maneuvered his cart through the market commotion. He slid into his usual space between Aaban and Aameen. His good friend Aaban sold candles, incense, oils and sometimes his wife would make cakes to sell. Aameen was the markets most notorious jokester. He sold hardware and just about anything else he could get his hands on.

Aaban was already burning a few sticks of jasmine incense. It helped to attract customers. The aroma defined the immediate space with the pleasant bouquet of a spring garden. Bouazizi liked the smell and appreciated the increased traffic it brought to his apple cart.

“Hey Basboosa#, do you have any cigarettes?“, Aameen asked as he pulled out a lighter. Bouazizi shook the tip of a Kent from an almost empty pack. Aameen grabbed the cigarette with his lips.

“That's three cartons of Kents you owe me, you cheap *******.” Bouazizi answered half jokingly. Aameen mumbled a laugh through a grin tightly gripping the **** as he exhaled smoke from his nose like a fire breathing dragon. Bouazizi also took out a cigarette for himself.

“Aameem, give me a light”, Bouazizi asked.

Aameen tossed him the lighter.

“Keep it Basboosa. I got others.” Aameen smiled as he showed off a newly opened box of disposable lighters to sell on his stand.

“Made in China, Basboosa. They make everything cheap and colorful. I can make some money with these.”

Bouazizi lit his next to last cigarette. He inhaled deeply. The smoke chased away the cool air in Bouazizi’s lungs with a shot of a hot nicotine rush.

“Merci Aameen” Bouazizi answered. He put the lighter into the almost empty cigarette pack and put it into his hip pocket. The lighter would protect his last cigarette from being crushed.

The laughter and shouts of the bazaar, the harangue of radio voices shouting anxious verses of Imam’s exhorting the masses to submit and the piecing ramble of nondescript AM music flinging piercing unintelligible static surrounded Bouazizi and his cart as he waited for his first customers of the day.

Bouazizi sensed a nervous commotion rise along the line of vendors. A crowd of tourists and locals milling about parted as if to avoid a slithering asp making its way through their midst. The hoots of vendors and the cackle of the crowd made its way to Bouazizi’s knowing ear. He knew what was coming. It was nothing more then another shakedown by city officials acting as bagmen for petty municipal bureaucrats. They claim to be checking vendor licences but they’re just making the rounds collecting protection money from the vendors. Pocketing bribes and payoffs is the municipal authorities idea of good government. They are skilled at using the power of their office to extort tribute from the working poor.

Bouazizi made the mistake of making eye contact with Madame Hamdi. As the municipal authority in charge of vendors and taxis Madame Hamdi held sway over the lives of the street vendors. She relished the power she had over the men who make a meager living selling goods in the square; and this morning she was moving through the market like a bloodhound hot on the trail of an escaped convict. Two burly henchmen lead the way before her. Bouazizi knew Madame Hamdi’s hounds were coming for him.

Bouazizi knew he was ******. Having just made a payment to his money lender, Bouazizi had no extra dinars to grease the palm of Madame Hamdi. He grabbed the handle bars of his cart to make an escape; but Madame Hamdi cut him off and got right into into Bouazizi’s face.

“Ah little Basboosa where are you going? she asked with the tone of playful contempt.

“I suppose you still have no license to sell, ah Basboosa?” Madame Hamdi questioned with the air of a soulless inquisitor.

“You know Madame Hamdi, cart vendors do not need a license.” Bouazizi feebly protested, not daring to look into her eyes.

“Basboosa, you know we can overlook your violations with a small fine for your laxity” a dismissive Madame Hamdi offered.

Bouazizi’s sense of guilt would not permit him to lift his eyes. His head remained bowed. Bouazizi stood convicted of being one of the impoverished.

“I have no spare dinars to offer Madame Hamdi, My pockets are empty, full of holes. My money falls into everyone’s palm but my own. I’m sorry Madame Hamdi. I’ll take my cart home”. He lifted the handlebars in an attempt to escape. One of Madame Hamdi’s henchmen stepped in front of his cart while the other pushed Bouazizi away from it.

“Either you pay me a vendor tax for a license or I will confiscate your goods Basboosa”, Madame Hamdi warned as she lifted Bouazizi’s scale off its hook.

“This will be the first to go”, she said grinning as she examined the scale. “We’ll just keep this.”
Like a mother lion protecting a defenseless cub from the snapping jaws of a pack of ravenous hyenas, Bouazizi lunged to retrieve his prized scale from the clutches of Madame Hamdi. Reaching for it, he touched the scale with his fingertips just as Madame Hamdi delivered a vicious slap to Bouazizi’s cheek. It halted him like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

A henchman overturned Bouazizi’s cart, scatter

1.

From our
safe windows,
we crane our necks,
rubbernecking
past the slow
motion wreckage
unfolding in Homs.

We remain
perfectly
perched
to marvel at
the elegant arc of
a mortar shell
framing tomorrows
deep horizon,
whistling through
the twilight to
find its fruitful
mark.

In the now
we keep
complicit time,
to the arrest
of beating hearts,
snapping fingers
to the pop
of rifle cracks,
swooning to
the delicious
intoxication of
curling smoke
lofting ever
upward;
yet
thankfully
remain
distant
enough to
recuse any
possibility
of an
intimate
nexus
with the
besieged.

2.

From our
safe windows,
we behold the
urgent arrivals of
The Friends of Syria
demanding
clean sheets
and 4 Star
room service at a
Tunisian Palace
recently cleaned
and under new
management
promising a
much needed
refurbishment.

The gathered,
a clique of
this epochs
movers and shakers,
a veritable
rouges gallery of
ambassadorial
prelates, Emirs and
state department
bureaucrats
summoned
with portfolio
from the
darkest corners
of the globe.

They are
eager to
sanctify
the misery
of Homs,
deflect and
lay blame
with realpolitik
rationalizations,
commencing
official commissions
of inquiry,
deliberating
grave considerations,
issuing indictments
of formal charges for
Crimes Against
Humanity
while
remaining
urgently
engrossed
in the fascination
of interviewing
potential
process servers
to deliver the bad news
to Bashar al-Assad
and his soulless
Baathist
confederates,
if papers
are to be
served.

Yes, the diplomats
are busy meeting
in closed rooms.

In hushed circles
they whisper
into aroused ears,
railing against
Russia’s
gun running
intransigence
and China’s
geopolitical
chess moves.

Statesmen
boast of the
intrepid justice
of tipping points
and the moving poetry
of self serving tales,
weighing the impact
of stern sanctions
amidst the historical
confusion of the
asymmetrical
symmetries
of civil war.

Caravans
of Arab League
envoys roll up
in silver Bentleys,
crossing deserts
of contradictory
obfuscations,
navigating the
endless dunes
with hand held
sextants of
hidden agendas.

The heroic
Bedouins are
eager to offload
their baggage
and share
on the ground
intelligence from
their recent soirées
across Syria.

They beg
a quick fix,
the triage of a
critical catharsis
to bleed their
brains dry
of heinous
recollections,
pleading
release from a
troubled conscience
victimized by
the unnerving paradox
of reconciling
discoveries of
perverse voyeurism
with the sanctioned
explanations
of their respective
ruling elites.

The bellies
of these
scopophiliacs
are distended;
grown queasy
from a steady diet
of malfeasance
an ulcerated
world parades
in continuous loop;
spewing the raw feeds
of real time misery;
forcibly fed
the grim
visions of
frantic
fathers
rushing
the mangled
carcases
of mortally
wounded
children
to crumpled
piles of smashed
concrete that were
once hospitals.

We despondently
ask how
much longer
must we
look into
the eyes
of starving
children
emaciated from
the wanton
indifference
of the world?


3.

From our
safe windows
we wonder
how much
longer can
the urgent
burning
ambivalence
continue
before it
consumes
our common
humanity in
a final
conflagration?

My hair already
singed by the
endless firestorms
sweeping the prairies
of the world.

How can we survive
the trampling hoards,
the marauding
plagues of acrimony
fed by a voracious
blood lust aspiring to
victimize the people
of Homs and a
thousand cities
like it?


4.

From my safe
window I stand in witness
to the state execution of
refugees fleeing the
living nightmare
of Baba Amr.

The ****** of innocents,
today's newly minted martyrs,
women and children
cornered, trapped
on treacherous roads,
mercilessly
slaughtered and
defiled in death
to mark the lesson
of a ruthless master
enthralled with the
power of his
sadistic fascist
lordship.

I cannot avert my eyes
marking sights
of pleading women
begging for the
lives of their children
in exchange for
the gratification
of a sadists
lust.

My heart
is impaled
on the sharp
spear of
outrage
beholding
careening
children mowed
down with the
serrated blades
protruding
from marauding
jeeps of laughing
soldiers.

I drop
to my knees
in lakes of
tears
reflecting
a grotesque
horror stricken
image of myself.

My eyes have
murdered my soul.

The ghastly images
of Homs have chased
away my Holy Ghost
to the safety of a child's
sandbox hidden away
in a long forgotten
revered memory.


5.

From my safe window
I seethe with anger
demanding vengeance,
debating how to rise
to meet the obscenity of
the Butcher of Damascus.

The sword of Damocles
dangles so tantalizingly close
to this tyrants throat.  

The covered women
of Homs scream prayers
“may Allah bring Bashar to ruin”

Dare I pray
that Allah trip the
horsehair trigger
that holds the
sword at bay?

Do I pick up
the sword
a wield it
as an
avenging
angel?

Am I the
John Brown
of our time?

Do I organize
a Lincoln Brigade
and join the growing
leagues of jihadists
amassing at the
Gates of Damascus?

Will my righteous
indignation fit well
in a confederacy
with Hamas and
al-Qaeda as my
comrades in arms?

Do I succumb to
the passion of hate
and become just
another murderous
partisan, or do I
commend the power
of love and marshal
truth to speak with
the force of
satyagraha?

I lift a fervent prayer
to claim the justice
of Allah’s ear,
“may the knowing one
lift the veil of foolishness
that covers my heart in
cloaks of resent, cure
my blindness that ignores
my raging disease of
plausible deniability
ravaging the body politic
of humanity.”

6.

Indeed,
physician heal thyself.

I run to embrace my
illness.

I pine to understand it.

I undertake the
difficult regimen
of a cure to eradicate
the terrible affliction.

This
pernicious
plague,
subverting
the notion
of a shared
humanness
is a cunning
sedition that
undermines
the unity of
the holy spirit.  

The bell from
the toppled steeples
still tolls, echoing
across the space of
continents and eons
of temporal time.

The faithful chimes
gently chides us
to remove the wedge
of perception that
separates, divides
and undermines.

Time has come
to liberally
apply the balm
that salves the
open wounds
so common to
our common
human condition.

The power of prayer
is the joining of hands
with others racked
with the common
affliction of humanness.

Allah,  
My eyes are wide open,
my sacred heart revealed,
my sleeves are rolled up,
my memory is stocked,
my soul filled with resolve,
my hand is lifted
extended to all
brothers and sisters.
Lift us,
gather us
into one
loving embrace.

Selah


7.

From the safe
windows of
our palaces
we live within
earshot of
the trilling
zaghroutas
of exasperation
flowing from
the besieged
city smouldering
under Bashar’s
symphony of terror.

Our nostrils
fill with the
acrid plumes
of unrequited
lamentations
lifting from the
the burning
destruction
of shelled
buildings.

Our eyes spark
from the night
tracers
of sleeking
snipers
flitting along
the city’s
rooftops.

The deadly jinn
indiscriminately
inject the
paralysis of
random fear
into the veins
of the city
with each
skillful
head shot.

These
ghoulish
assassins
lavish in their
macabre work;
like vultures
they eagerly
feast on the
corpses of their ****,
the stench of bloated
bodies drying in the
sun is the perfume
that fills their nostrils.


8.

From our
safe window
we discern the
silhouettes of militants
still boldly standing
amidst the
mounting rubble of an
unbowed Homs
shouting;

Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!

raising pumped fists,
singing songs
of resistance,
dancing to
the revelation of
freedom,
refusing to
be coward by
the slashing
whips of a
butchers
terrible
sword.


9.

From my
safe window
my tongue laps
the pap
of infants
suckling from
the depleted
teats of mothers
who cannot cry
for their dying
children;
tears fail
to well from
the exhaustion
of dehydrated
pools.

10.

From my
safe window
my heart stirs
to the muezzin
calling the
desperate faithful
from the toppled
rubble of dashed
minarets.

We can
no longer
shut our ears
to the adhan
of screams
the silent
voices that echo
the blatant injustice
of a people under siege.


11.

From my
safe window,
I pay
Homage to Homs
and call brothers
and sisters to rise
with vigilant
insistence
that hostilities
cease and
humanity be
upheld,
respected and
protected.


12.

From my safe
window
I perceive
the zagroutas
of sorrow
manifest as a
whiling hum,
a sweeping
blue mist,
levitating
the coffins
from the rubble
of ravaged streets.

The swirling
chorus of
mourning
joins my
desperate
prayers;
rising in
concert
with the
black billows
of smoke
dancing
away
from the
flaming
embers
of scorched
neighborhoods.


13.

From my
safe window
I heed
the fluttering
wings
of avenging
angels
furiously
batting
as they
climb
the black
plumes,
lifting from
the scattered bricks
of the desecrated
city.

It is the
Jacob’s
Ladder
for our
time;
marking
a new
consecrated
place
where
a New Adam
is destined
to be formed
from the
pulverized
stones of
desolation.

14.

From our
safe windows
we peer into
resplendent
mirrors
beholding
the perfect image of
ourselves
eying
falling tears
dripping blood,
coloring death
onto the
blanched sheets
of disheveled beds.


15.

From our
safe windows
our voices are silenced,
our words mock urgency
our thoughts betray comprehension
our senses fail to illicit empathy
our action is the only worthy prayer


16.

From my
safe window
I hear the
mortar shells
walking toward
my little palace,
the crack
of a ******
shot
precedes
the wiz of a
passing bullet
whispering
its presence
into my
waxen
ear.


17.

From my
safe window,
my palms scoop
the rich soil
of the flower boxes
perched on my sill.
I anoint the tender
green shoots of  the
Arab Spring
with an incessant flow
of bittersweet tears.

Music selection:
John Coltrane
A Love Supreme
Acknowledgment

Oakland
2/28/12
jbm

I often remember with a lot of thrill in my spine every time I reflect on the Writings of Miguna Miguna in his book peeling Back the Masks, a certain sub-plot that most of Kenyan students in Canada, America, Britain, Germany or Australia often fail to go through pre-university examinations and then they opt for faculty friendly courses like carpentry and electrical-wire man offered at some polytechnics in this countries. Then these students end up living as informal sector workers in the Diaspora, and hence putting themselves into a cash strapped condition that they don’t easily come back home. This is also the same texture of revelations I have been encountering for the past five months of my regular reading of the literary pages of The Saturday Nation, in which a most of Kenyans write alongside some foreigners, but notably Professor Austin Bukenya as the foreign writer, Bukenya himself being a Ugandan.
The revelations are that the writers who were regularly writing on these pages sometimes ago have gradually waned up, not because of anything but due to their intellectual irrelevance. Mostly caused by a defect of intellectual inferiority. They were the likes of Evans Mwangi; Mwangi was forthrightly coming up with a tribally fine-tuned niche in the name of being Ngugi wa Thiong’o scholar. He had a specialization in writing about Ngugi because Ngugi is his tribesman, they are both Kikuyu’s.He also had substantial writings on Ngugi’s children; Mukoma, Lee, Nducu and Wanjiku wa Ngugi, who are in similar stretch of their father struggling to be established as writers. But all in all, Professor Evans Mwangi has already ended up as an intellectual without consequences.
Another writer in point was one; Dr Tom Odhiambo, who also teaches literature at the University of Nairobi. He had been writing on the same pages but with a strong bent towards Luo Chauvinism and stark Conspiracy against Luhyia veteran literary Critic Professor Chris Wanjala.
The only Kenyan literary activist who has been trying to remain globally vogue in his literary writings on this platform is Dr Godwin Siundu; he often displays Global relevance through his pataphorous approach to literary appreciations and criticism.
But whatsoever the case, professor Bukenya has towered seriously above these Kenyans.Bukenya’s command of English language and literary command has no match on the Kenyan literary market. Bukenya Tackles globalectics of literature as Kenyans struggle with tribalism of their home literature.Ethinicity is the enemy of Kenyan literature and as well an established foe of any other Kenyan professional perspective.
Why Kenyans are threatened with intellectual suffocation when exposed to otherness is because of a few reasons. As cited above ethinicism remains a dominant factor. But also, lack of homogenous public language, absence of ideology in their political history, failure of politics to achieve common nationalism and corruption in the public sector are contributing forces among others.
Your consecutive  look at the literary pages of  the Saturday Nation of the previous three weekends will be an empirical testimony to this position.Bukenya’s stories have surveyed dialectics of English language, aging of African literature , translation and greatness of Uganda orature with a focus on Okot P’ Bitek. And this weekend he has beautifully lime-lighted on Julius Nyerere’s Intellectual tigritude. Nyerere’s as the killer of colonialism but while at the same time he lingered as the staunch lover of Shakespeare.
This is simply a farcical repetition of the previous tragic history, as reflected in the words of Karl Marx in his 18th Brumaire, which made the Ugandan educated Sudanese Poet, Taban Reneket Makititiyong Lo Liyong to look at Kenya’s literary poverty and then take a synechedochal stand to decry that east Africa is a literary desert. He was right, but in a sense he did not mean east Africa per se, he meant Kenya .Kenya at that time had only an English Department at the University of Nairobi. The department was poorly performing in terms of research. It was desperately tethered duplicating of the European classics as its literary overture.
But when the foreign and radical blood came to Kenya, in guest of helping Kenya to overcome the fog in the seasons end from colonial mire to literary and cultural freedom, Native Kenyans were surprisingly never friendly to them at all at all. Some of the intellectuals who had come to Kenya that time were the greats like :Ezekiel Mphalele from south Africa, Okot p’ Bitek from Uganda,Okello Oculii from Uganda,Ayi Kwei Armah from Ghana, Joie De Graft from Ghana, Walter Rodney from Guyana, Austeen Bukenya from Uganda and Taban Lo Liyong from Uganda.
All of these foreigners in Kenya have later on been absolved by time and history  as literary greats.They have proved clear intellectual and literary superlativety  over and above all Kenyans. The point of contrite is that, Kenyans of that era did not give them a chance to share their intellectual resource with the peasants and masses of Kenya. Instead Kenyan bureaucrats began their usual came of intimidation and tribal nagging whenever intellectually outshone.
Austeen Bukenya was condemned into poverty at Machakos girls high school to be an English teacher or a teacher of English without a salary. Liyong and Pitek were perpetually witch-hunted out of University of Nairobi by Ngugi and Wanjala. Rodney and Armah were frustrated until they desperately moved to Tanzania from where they wrote their respective oeuvres. Armah wrote Why are we Blessed, While Rodney wrote the world famous book How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. Mphalele was frustrated to oblivion, only for him to die mysteriously when on a literary tour in West Africa.
But sadly enough, the Kenyans who were seriously illiterate, in the  likes of : Daniel Moi, Jomo Kenyatta, Ezekiel Barengtunny  and many intellectuals so-so’s shamelessly made themselves to be  chancellors of the Universities .They were chancellors who never went beyond class seven of primary schools in their child hood. They then became bovaristic if not atavistic only to begin writing lame books like Nyayo Philosophy, Suffering without Bitterness, Facing Mount Kenya and other literary trash of the same calibre. It is this intellectual sludge that they again turned to impose as compulsory reading materials on sons and daughters of poor Kenyans.
By
Alexander K. Opicho
Eldoret, Kenya.

The Rulers wield their silver shields,
             wear golden coronets
while warders guard the prison yard,
             boast brazen bayonets
and unicorns flaunt ivory horns
             defending martinets.

While Bankers beam Their self-esteem
             (bailed out of broker's debts),
and Bureaucrats grow rich and fat
             in six-star luncheonettes,
the deep, devout and down and out
             survive as silhouettes.

The Press take pains to wash our brains,
             Their words have mesmerized.
So, mild and meek, we fear to speak
             in worlds They’ve polarized,
and rush to war, through Satan's door,
             watch cities vaporized.

The Lord of Lore tells tales of war,
             of victories far away,
where eyes stare stark within the dark
             and death is painted gray
on faces cold, some young, some old,
             in spectral disarray.

We're taught at school the Golden Rule
             for all to live in bliss,
but in the wars on foreign shores
             the only rule is this:
“Yo! You and I must fight and die
             inside the black abyss!”

But well alive, the Merchants thrive
            on sales of armaments
that Barons built (with pride, not guilt)
            to quell the dissidents,
while Partisans are posing plans
             to conquer continents.

And back at home, the rumors roam
             “Good times are soon to come,
despite the breeze on frozen seas
             in weathers wet and numb.”
When we’re in need, They’ll intercede
             with prayers if we succumb.

A Tabloid screams of phantom dreams
             to keep our minds at sea
and TV skews the evening news,
             ensures we all agree:
“With dynamite we fight for right
             and not for tyranny.”

The brain aborts when drugged with sports
               and fashions of the day,
and sevenfold, men think as told
              and so are led astray;
and like some sheep (unless asleep)
             they baa when they obey.  

In search of sense in sounds intense
             of droning drum tattoos
(the beat sustains the endless reigns
             which swamp the avenues)
souls, thin and worn, traipse by, forlorn,
             delayed by shackled shoes.

Ten thousand eyes belong to Spies
            who watch us day and night
to track our trails and read our mails
             and say They have the right
to know our thoughts and thwart our plots
             to cease Their oversight.

Behind the scenes, behind the screens,
             the rules are fixed, arranged
(contorted smiles conceal Their wiles -
             Their goals have never changed).
When upside-down, a grin is frown
             and common sense deranged.

Along the roads, the future bodes
             in legends made of dust,
and ashes gray the alleyway
             'neath lampposts scaled with rust.
While Divas dine with cakes and wine
             pale orphans share a crust.

Dead colonies of humble bees,
             a ravaged hornets' hive,
rain forests, dales and minke whales
             soon nothing left alive…        
a world laid waste is to Their taste,
             as long as They survive.

As sunlight wanes in winter rains
             and sullen shadows crawl,
the evening ebbs, and spider's webs
             seem tattooed on the wall.
Upon the night the Masters write
             The Final Protocol.

look me in the eye and tell me that you love me
or was it all a sad story that you unconsciously believed
while you raided the fridge and fornicated wildly
too late is not really an acceptable position
and later on is usually an example of indecision
and sometimes specimens reject their predicaments
especially if they are eventually going to be your dinner
i am sure that i am here to usher in a new authority
resurrected like a phoenix i must be stronger than before
so even if forever is often equivalent to never
and september is the month of seven (or was it nine) serpents
that are to be reborn in the dawn of Time's obsidian
as our minds have spent oblivion in the forges
of turgidly engorged shores, torn from their former continents
as forms are always gripped in hands who choose intolerance 
take administrators, lawyers, bureaucrats and clerks;
as examples of this; par excellence

Fever-flushed children and
Broken bodies
Litter hospital halls like so much
Human refuse
….Wondering why
their need for care is treated so tepidly by a
Society which worships
Profits
Power and
Prestige
….Waiting while
they wallow in anguish as
Privacy
Paperwork and
Payment are
Debated by bureaucrats in cubicles
….Wanting to be refreshed and
restored to some measure of usefulness
….But
Free to Pursue Life on their terms in exchange for  
Silence
Acceptance and
Despair

Huddling for warmth and in
Fear of discovery
they assemble in rag-tag formation
having scaled formidable fences
Seeking freedom from
Poverty and oppression
Searching for work of any sort
….No matter how
Humiliating or
Hard
….No matter the
Cost or
Conditions
Disparaged and despised they labor
in hope that their children will have a chance for success
instead of suffering a similar fate
…..But
Free to Pursue Liberty
in a land where their presence is
Ignored if not Denied

Unkempt in camouflage
One-legged and
Vacant-eyed
he rolls his rickety wheelchair along grassy median with muted effort
displaying cardboard sign
childishly scripted
in one weather-worn and gnarled hand
while clutching a decapitated jug in the other
Forgotten
Forlorn, and
Discarded veteran
Victimized far more by country than foe
….But
Free to Pursue Happiness while
Begging on street corners as
Upright citizens dispense
Unwelcome opinions or
Pocket change with equal
Self-righteousness


Life
Liberty and the
Pursuit of happiness….
Ideals that slowly incinerate on the
Altar of Capitalism
….Songs forever lost in the
Cacophony now
Played on the
Instrument of Politics

I’ve come to realise
That I find Lake Klinwel boring;
Ignoring the skies,
The flight of birds
And their curving dives.
This lake, drowned by eyes,
Instead choosing to reflect static towers
That are monuments to Machiavelli,
Where the financially ambitious
And their crisp paper voices spend
Their days, evenings.
Money in the bank for tomorrow
Plan ahead, plan ahead,
That what the lake said
When I visited.

What freedom
Such a wonder of nature
Has to manipulate and
Reinterpret the harshness
In lines that ascend until they
Scrape the sky,
That tears, simple as tissue.

And all the while,
Cigarette butts,
In an abstract delinquency,
Revise community buildings and council offices
Where surely they dream of hole punch
And green lights and confirmation and deadline for appeal
Whilst bureaucrats administer more paper cuts to the teal-blooded sky and Risk Assessments have given a score to death—
Awarding it a number five.

The lake can surely stay awake
Just long enough to show me ripples
And normality when I drop in a stone,
Just a sound that
Confirms this mind is still my own,
That the waking world is known to me,
Dreams are dreams alone,
They are the ripples reaching the sea
From my daring stone.
To be beside a lake, lyrically alone,
Brings a pain that is most obvious and physical
And so I ask once more for the
Most minute of tides for my sore, tired eyes—
Just a ripple of two to the other side
Where I see a figure,
Where I see blue eyes,
Where I see extravagant dress and
Hair so shapely they say and yet
I couldn't care less.
It could be a wig
But the wind tells me it is not,
And her nose sits among a gang of features,
Knowing surely it turns heads—
Growing heavier with each turned.

The lake spat on my shoe and continued
To reflect the tall commercial towers
Whilst this green space is vast,
Boasting bowers where I sit with a pencil
And I see the birds of paradise
Impressively dancing and dancing impressively.
Sublime in fact!
But I think they are trespassers
We should kindly send them back
Their hearts are excessively small
And no longer in paradise,
Not close to it at all.

I’m done with you, lake!
Lake Klinwell, lazy deceptive mirror!
Are you depressed?
Disenchanted?
Do I notice how you are growing ever thinner?

I heard news that our
Town is crumpling in certain corners,
It’s folding in two like a map closing.
People are dreaming with recurring themes
And the flowers bow their heads
Just in case.

Oh, you are a soft, sensitive lake,
Let me dip my feet.
Do not fear for the town we share,
Do not quake, dear lake,
And enjoy your daylit hours
In the company of the trees and flowers.

I beg you though:
One day,
When I need it most,
Reflect for me a memory:

Diana and I on the corrugated coast,
Careless on the rocks,
I failed to enjoy it at the time through fear
but she leapt, crossed a gap to get to me.
She landed with a kiss.

And if you could add a sunset,
The weather was terrible.

Bureaucrats and clergymen
differ only in doctrine.

But their altars steam
with the blood
of untold innocents.

The Pope, Stalin, and ******—
all canvass the people
with warped visions
of Paradise.

(Oh, Celan, you saw it
too well.)

Bloodletting for peace...

Pitchforks stoke the fires
to make dainty foot warmers
for Moloch and Midas.

Do You Believe In ... ?
  
Freedom of Speech ... ?
Freedom of Thought ... ?  

And ...
Freedom To Teach ... ?  
    
Or ..... ?  
    
Freedom To Do ...    
The Things That You Please ... ?!?  
    
Freedom Is NOT ...
PART of ... Reality ... !!!  
    
Which Part of You's ... FREE ...  
Apart From ... YOUR Body ... !?!  
    
I Believe In The Freedom ...  
To Simply Be ... ME ...    
    
To SHOW My Frustrations ...  
WITHOUT ... " Accusations " ... !!!  
    
"He's ANGRY, HE'S MAD !
His Intentions are BAD !"  
    
I'm SICK of These Judgements ...  
These Judgments Are ... CRASS ... !!!!!  
    
I Want To Be FREE To AIR My Opinion ...    
On ANYTHING Ranging From ...  
*** To ... Dominion ... !!!!!  
    
How Can We Be ... "Free" ... ?!?  
When We're ... Under CONTROL ...    
    
Control of ... "Your Mind" ...  
Means ... Control of YOUR SOUL ... !!!!!  
    
Men Who Wear ... " Suits " ...  
Have Got The ... Bank Rolls ...  
    
While Those Who Don't Wear Them ...    
Get Left In ...............................................­................ The Cold ..... !!!  
    
We're ... "FREE to Air Views !" ...
    
Is The ... Regular Quote ...  
    
But How Can This Be ...  
When So Many Can't Vote ... ?!?  
    
I'm SICK of Politicians ... !!!  
Who Have NO Constrictions ............ ?  
    
They Seem To Think It's Okay ...  
To BAN TALK On Religion ....  
    
But The Parties They're In ...  
DEFINE Their ..... SEP - ara - Tism .... ?!?!?  
    
Of Course Your Mind ...  
Can ALWAYS ... Run Free ..................................  
    
But ....  
    
" Freedom of Thought " ...  
Is Now ... Under Siege ... !!!  
    
When Those Who Hold POWER ...  
Decide ... Who Can Speak ...  
    
They Speak ALL THE TIME ... !!!!!!  
About ... CONTROLLING Streets ...    
    
When THEY DON'T Walk Them ...  
But Are Driven Around ...  
In COMFY ... Leather Seats ... ?!?  
    
They Procrastinate ...  
About ... " Freedom of Speech " ...  
    
But SHOUT Like A ... " Tout " ...  
About ... Wars That They Seek ....................................... !!!!!!  
    
These People Are ... "Weak" .... !!!  
    
From People In Congress ...  
To ... Lying MP's ... !!!!!  
    
I'd Rather Observe ...  
A Debate Between SHEEP ... !!!  
    
Than Watch These MP's ...  
Tell Us LIES On ... TV ... !!!!!!!  
    
CONTROLS Are Now groWING ...
  
...... EVERYWHERE ..... !!!!!!!  
    
BIG BROTHER's WATCHING ...  
PLEASE Beware ... !!!  
    
From Lyrics You Hear ...  
To The Clothes That You Wear ...  
    
Wearing A ... " Hoodie " ...  
Has Got People ... " SCARED " ... !!!!!  
    
What IS ... REALLY True ...  
Is ... SO RARELY Shared ...  
With ... People Like Me ...  
Who DO ... REALLY CARE ... !!!  
    
I'm The DAREDEVIL ...  
With ........ Medusas' Stare .......    
    
The Worlds Now Controlled ...  
By Witches Like .... " Blair " ....  
    
Bureaucrats ...  
Hold The ... "SHARES" ...  
    
Do You Think This Is Fair .... ???  
    
NOTHING In This Life ...  
Is Gonna Be ... FREE ... !!!!!!!  
    
From Clothes That You Wear ...  
To A ... Juicy Fruit PLEASE ... !!!  
    
Girls AIN'T Easy ...  
They're Getting ... GREEDY ... !!!  
  
"Show me THAT Money !  
Then you can PLEASE ME !"
    
"Go Please YOURSELF !  
Girl, you don't need me !"  
  
Girls Seem To Now Think ...  
Cash Can ... Set Them FREE .......................................................  
    
How STUPID They Be ... !!!  
    
Cos' In The End Just Like Me ...  
Money CAN'T Possibly Set People Free ...  
    
Free From THE CHAINS of ... "Society" ... !!!!!  
    
The One Thing In My Life ...  
That's ... EVER BEEN FREE ...  
    
Was The LOVE FROM ...  
    
..... " My Mother " .....  
    
Hey Mum ...    
Rest in Peace ... !!!!!  
    
" Our Love will be free for Eternity !  
I'm sending my love, through this here poetry !    
Your Love was unconditional !
You gave it for free, free like A tree !"  
    
But They Are Now DYING ...  
To Build ... Property ... ?!?  
    
Have You Seen The ...
... " Two Towers " ... ?  
    
In A land Where The Trees ...  
Were Able To ... Speak ...  
    
I'd Ask Them Some Questions ...  
Like ... Why Are We Messing ...  
With ... ALL of God's Blessings ... ?  
    
Like ... FREEDOM of Voice ...  
And ... FREEDOM of Choice ...    
    
Instead of The Sounds ...  
of Political ... NOISE ... !!?!!  
    
Which Normally Leads ...  
To The Use of ... War Toys ... !!!!!  
    
I'm Getting Annoyed ...  
By ... "Constriction Ploys" ... !!!  
    
Don't THEY Annoy YOU ... ?!?  
You MUST HAVE A View ... !?!  
    
THIS Is A Path ...  
We've GOT TO ... AVOID ... !!!!!  
    
Cos' FREEDOM of Thought ...  
Is Being .... DESTROYED ... !!!!!  

By Those ... " Pulling Strings " ...  
of Puppets They Employ ... !!!!!  
    
I'm Simply Suggesting ...  
    
It's Time For Some Questions ... !!!  
BEFORE They Call ... " TIME " ... !!!  
    
On People Like Me ...  
Who QUESTION Through Rhyme ...  
    
Cos' This It Would Seem ... ???  
Is Their NEW ... GRAND Design ...  !!!  
    
To Make Those Who Question ...  
    
SHUT UP And ... RESIGN ... !!!!!!  
    
I'm Feeling That Freedom ...  
Is NOW ... Out of Season ... !!!!!  
    
It's Facing Some CUTS ... !!!  
And Some ... "Internal BLEEDING" ... !!!!!  
    
But NEVER Give Up ... !!!  
    
On This Thing We Call ....  
    
..... " Freedom " .....

Dr Manmohan Singh is the most honest Prime Minister
Ms Sonia Gandhi is his dearest sister
India is proud of Her Silvery Himalayas
And her Inestimable super scandals

If She is able to progress with such a large scale corruption
Which is as vibrant and furious as volcanic eruption,
Every  foreigner must be jealous of her glorious future
If the politicians become a bit patriotic in nature

G2 spectrum is the greatest scandal in India of incredible magnitude
The politicians and  the bureaucrats need to be complimented on their fortitude
Mother India is a benign Goddess of great treasure
She can withstand any arson , looting,robbery or  exploitation beyond any measure

Mad politicians threaten nuclear war
While madder religious maniacs
Send suicide bombers to **** and destroy.
Bombers brainwashed into believing
That vestal virgins await them in heaven.

Children starve
While adults fight
For bits of land.

A world divided.
Plagued by hate and distrust.
Governments killing their own people
Except when tied by nameless bureaucrats.

Forests and wildlife being cleared away
For the sake of gold or drugs
Or other means of making Money.

It’s a mad, mad world.
In which everyone is born to die.
What use is that?
Perhaps already we are living in
Hell.
Just Saying.

Paul Butters

(C) PB 1\5\2017. 2 new lines added 8\5\17.

The wind is curiously silent tonight.
Nothing disturbs the deep darkness,
but the wafting scent of madness.

In the desert, captive children
toss and turn, whimper and sleep,
the government their souls to keep.

They will wake to razor wire,
and the company of strangers,
caught in concentration camps
of unknown bureaucrats and guards
blamelessly following the orders
of distant, calculating masters
who play political chess
with the lives of the innocent.

The country that separates
mothers from their babies
will rise and ask no questions,
going about its business,
buying, selling, grasping at more,
untouched by this insanity,
kissing its own kids good morning,
unwilling or unable to feel or see
the malignant cancer eating its way
through the complacent, rotting soul
of what, once upon a time, used to be

the home of the brave,
the land of the free.

Who put the “sub” into “subversion” and “subculture”?
Was it the same people
Who built schools:
Those prisons
Where kids are tortured
And brainwashed
Into being “good” conforming citizens –
Factory fodder
Trained to sit in lines
Labouring at meaningless tasks,
Questioning nothing?

So still we are ruled
By Tory Grandees and Brussels Bureaucrats
Keeping us in our place:
Social Control
Over Job Centre slaves.

It’s the same the whole world over:
The rich wallowing in luxury
While the poor starve to death
Exposed to pitiless winds.

For once words fail me
About our Unfair World.
Children dying everywhere
While fatcats feed in a frenzy.
No wonder people talk of Revolution
And terrorist plots.
Our air is full of carbon
While trees are cut
Down
For seas of palm oil.

We need to reconsider
What we do
In all our ways.
Enough is enough.
It’s time to nurture nature
As denizens of Planet Earth.

Paul Butters

© PB 23\11\2018.

Some introductory food for thought...

"Manufacturing and commercial monopolies owe their origin not to a tendency imminent in a capitalist economy but to governmental interventionist policy directed against free trade and laissez faire."
  - Ludwig Von Mises

"Bureaucracies are inherently antidemocratic. Bureaucrats derive their power from their position in the structure, not from their relations with the people they are supposed to serve. The people are not masters of the bureaucracy, but its clients."
  - Alan Keyes


The European Union as the New Eastern Bloc?
The Eastern Trading Bloc of the Soviet system had it's origins in the tail end of the Second World war, where, through the suppression of the whereabouts of Kremlin manipulation, had purported itself as democratic agreement, initially giving itself the appearance of a 'bourgeois democracy' as the Soviets called it. Though, inherently was, and clearly became an imperial establishment of control from the Soviet Bureaucracy. Likewise, the European Union, when originally advertised to the nations of Europe was propped up in a similarly unassuming manner, despite having been previously discussed and having the concepts of such a union already organised further back into 1948 at the Hague Conference. The parallels of such such unions (Eastern/Euro) are that they garnered the consent of the public through their foundation being merely upon an economic transnational policy, and not a political one, and therefor their basic parallels are that of deceit.

The Eastern Bloc formed what was essentially a symbiosis of the state and the economy, something that naturally would be inherent under a Communist regime. However, the European Union, too, follows a similar reciprocal foundation, for it binds the state and economy, removing the separation of powers by Capitalistic enterprise, and instead, Centralises governance in a more oligarchical, corporate and bureaucratic apparatus. Operating through a complex arrangement of multitudinous committees and boards, whose members form a body of non-elected representatives. Essentially the European Union, on the guise of an economic market, has formed a centralised, quasi-private parliament akin to the Soviet style hegemony of the Eastern Bloc, and through soft-intimidation and misinformation, keeps it's members bonded. Lest it be forgotten that the Union is allegedly one of 'free trade', yet, when discourse begins to brew of leaving, as it did in Britain, why are we met with threats of economic disability and ostracization? That shows more the signs of a protection racket; of bureaucratic gangsterism, than it does of a voluntary cooperation of national markets.


The unification of Germany and the amalgamation of the European continent?
In a more predictive sense, the European Union shares similarities in it's unifying policies, as it it does to the unification of the German states circa 1871. Spearheaded during the Bismarckian era of the late nineteenth century, Germany, well within a period of two decades transformed from a collection of trading states, to a fully amalgamated nation under Prussian dominated rule, but by what means did this occur, and in what ways does the unification of Germany share similarities to modern Europe?

Of course, the chief processes of German unification lied in the economy, the political structure and culture, the political structure I have already covered. The establishment of a newly amalgamated economy among the German States was created through the breaking down of trade barriers between the previously independent states, one of which ways in doing so was the introduction of the single German currency (the Mark) along with a centralised banking system that allowed for both monetary control by the state and the removal of currency exchange between regions. Likewise the European Union brought with it the introduction of a common European currency (the Euro) and too, a European Central Bank. The new Germany also extended its unification to the creation of a common German culture that evoked a sense of nationalism, for instance, the establishment of a new national anthem and German military, to be paraded with pride. Too, the standardisation of the school system to create a state of coherent socialisation among the German generations. What we see with the European Union is also the creation of a common European national anthem and a cooperative European military (though a centralised European military is still developing) and through policies such as the Bolonga Process, the education system of Europe as a whole has been standardised to the specific image of the European Union, even a single European emergency number (112) is under proposition.

It is said that history repeats itself, and perhaps what we are living through today is the amalgamation of the European states as transpired nearly 150 years ago within central Europe. And that the non-representative, self appointing parliament of the European Union, resembles almost a kind of bureaucratic Kaiserreich; a kind of Prussian hegemony of the modern day.


- a short essay by JDH

Of Mice and Men  
The mice in Belgium do not eat fine chocolate
They scoff at imported Swiss cheese
And have only contempt for a left- over bacon burgers,
they feast on plans of roads and buildings
I blame EU for this the mice have bureaucratic  
And go through stacks of programs especially those
About repairing tunnels and roads  

Bureaucrats of any hue are working overtime
Try keeping up this losing battle against mice
So many cars choking up the roads Islamists
Have to go to Paris when blowing up people.
The British demand for special concessions will  
not last long the mice will see to that.

perhaps we do not wish to admit,
that the majority of the words we speak,
the conversations overheard, even without intent,
leave us not awash, not suffocating, but
mesmerized in an awful way

squelching tirades of banality,
humdrum housework life's tirades of
meeting basic needs, functionaries of life,
bureaucrats of our domestic affairs,
accountants calculating marginal cures,
overridden by the occasional impulse,
which delights until it too
is humdrum-ed out of existence

a passing blazing ambulance
begs to contradict,
reminders that there are
crevasses on the city streets,
that in minuscule moments,
life becomes twisted making our lethargy,
a course 101 introduction to tragedy

but this is not the norm,
this imbalanced equation,
1X = 99 whys,

to survive,
to justify,
to mediate
between these un-counterbalanced weights,
I write poetry

Prayer Before Birth (1944) - Poem by Louis Macneice


I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

I am not yet born; provide me
With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
in the back of my mind to guide me.

I am not yet born; forgive me
For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words
when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,
my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,
my life when they ****** by means of my
hands, my death when they live me.

I am not yet born; rehearse me
In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when
old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains
frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white
waves call me to folly and the desert calls
me to doom and the beggar refuses
my gift and my children curse me.

I am not yet born; O hear me,
Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God
come near me.

I am not yet born; O fill me
With strength against those who would freeze my
humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,
would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with
one face, a thing, and against all those
who would dissipate my entirety, would
******* like thistledown hither and
thither or hither and thither
like water held in the
hands would spill me.

Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.
Otherwise **** me.



Louis Macneice

Identification “Thinking”

Bizarrely ranked pretenses,
The names of hollow things…
The herd in vile stenches,
Like sea-slugs, not with fins.

A heap of rotten drivel,
Fraud, lies, and petty gain—
It kills the soul’s arrival:
Hell has no need of pain.

False “science” and religion,
Their stinking, sham parade,
All forms of small derision,
A darkness tailor-made.

From tangled webs of trifles
The tightest chains are born,
And thus arise the mindless,
Forever cracked and torn.

Lies take the place of reason,
Of honor, truth, and will;
Their heirs inherit treason,
Just garbage fit to ****.

For Hell requires no better—
All rests on trash and fraud.
The fools are even gladder
When thought is almost gone.

So simple—like a dealing
Of poker cards, the lot;
The nonsense keeps on stealing,
And checkmates every thought.

The sages long have warned us—
But deaf remained the herd:
That names are not adornments,
But shackles, deed and word.



---------------------




1.
Names are chains, not crowns —
They forge the fools as clowns.

2.
On garbage minds are fed,
The living soul is dead.

3.
False ranks, false gods, false schools —
All breeding broken fools.

4.
Hell needs no fire at all —
Just lies to make us fall.



---------------------




Names are chains, not crowns —
They forge the fools as clowns.

Titles are just ropes,
Enslaving broken hopes.

---

On garbage minds are fed,
The living soul is dead.

Trash is their holy feast,
It kills the soul, at least.

---

False ranks, false gods, false schools —
All breeding broken fools.

Fake science, faith, and laws —
Just spawn of Hell’s applause.

---

Hell needs no fire at all —
Just lies to make us fall.

No pitchforks, flames, or screams —
Just lies to **** our dreams.



---------------------




Names are chains, not crowns —
They forge the fools as clowns.
On garbage souls are slain,
Hell rules through lies, not flame.

---

False gods, false schools, false kings —
Their crown is rot that stings.
No fire, no pitchfork blade —
Just lies, and souls decayed.

---

Trash feeds the broken herd,
They choke on every word.
Names bind, deceive, enslave —
Hell laughs at what it gave.



---------------------




1.
Hell needs no flame at all —
A single lie can fall.

2.
Names are the iron chain —
They breed the herd insane.

3.
Trash feeds the hollow head —
The soul is left for dead.

4.
False crowns, false gods, false rules —
The world is run by fools.



---------------------




One lie is Hell complete —
It chains the mind, defeats.



---------------------




Lies are Hell.



---------------------




1. Chains are names.
2. Trash kills truth.
3. Hell is lies.
4. Crowns are cages.
5. Words are shackles.



---------------------




Hell is lies.
Chains are names.
Trash kills truth.



---------------------




Crowns are cages.
Words are shackles.
Fools call it freedom.



---------------------




Lies forge the chains we wear,
Trash feeds minds stripped bare.
Crowns of rot, gods of sham,
Hell smiles — we bow, we cram.



---------------------




Lies forge chains,
Trash kills brains.

---

Lies bind souls,
Trash devours minds.



---------------------



Kremliad

The bunker louse,
And all the Kremliad crew,
Never touch that spouse —
This wh#re brings through

Its “glue” to all,
“Knowledge” and so-called “light,”
It leads straight on,
Through seas of blight.

Straight into… Hell.
That “light” — pitch black,
“Knowledge” — lies as well,
It spends cash to stack

All lies on top —
Goebbels sets the tone.
Multiply this fraud,
And you need no more than one:

To **** the others,
Those against its lies,
To jail still others,
As its bullsh#t flies.

Delusions they create,
And in them many drown.
And lies will devastate —
Killing souls all ’round.

For fascism stands on lies,
Death is the trace.
To serve the filth — BELIEVE!
The light,

The real light there
Cuts like a blazing sword:
Truth kills the vermin
With truth, strike hard!

Do not touch the Kremliad —
Illuminate with TRUTH:
This wh#re will rot
Like a vampire. Shine! Shine!!!



---------------------




Kremliad burns in lies,
Truth strikes, the wh#re dies.
Light cuts through the blight,
Expose, and fight, ignite!



---------------------




Truth burns the Kremliad,
Lies die in the light.



---------------------




1. Lies feed the Kremliad,
Truth strikes — the **** is dead.

2. Kremliad thrives on lies,
Expose, and see it die.

3. Light pierces their deceit,
Kremliad falls to defeat.

4. Truth scorches every wh#re,
Kremliad lives no more.



---------------------




Truth strikes — the **** is dead.
Kremliad thrives on lies.
Expose, and see it die.

---

Lies feed the Kremliad.
Light cuts through their blight.
Fools cheer — but truth ignites.



---------------------




Kremliad thrives on lies and deceit,
Truth strikes hard — they fall to defeat.
Light scorches their false parade,
Expose, ignite — let darkness fade.



---------------------




Truth burns the Kremliad,
Lies crumble in the light.



---------------------



The Bureaucrats

The bureaucratic ****,
Not drones — but evil’s hand.
They implant all that’s dumb,
The fiend here rules the land.

They use them in the dark,
For order is the key.
A dark order leaves its mark,
Multiplying false decree.

Their function — on the hills
They sit to block our way,
Guarding “order” with cheap thrills,
And forcing minds to sway.

This “order” is decay,
So hilltops hold the best.
No questions there — just prey,
The hilltop thief at rest.

On bribes and graft they feed,
Their energy all spent.
You’ll serve the fiends indeed,
A twisted instrument.

The bureaucrat — a coward, carrion,
Thus fascism he’ll uphold,
Injecting filth with blind precision,
Cretinism bought and sold.

He lets the people rot,
Their ******* firmly tied,
Freedom long forgot,
For thought is killed inside.

Upon the Spirit reigns
The whole decayed regime.
In life, the race remains:
Who’s sickest of the team,

Soullessness rules supreme —
The bureaucrat, the judge.
And day by day it seems
This pig delivers the grudge.

Bureaucratic ***** reigns,
More valued than the rest.
Their craft: to make the plains
Of mindless, hollowed pests.

The plain of stumps will rise —
Dull, sick, rotten, blind.
Upon these stumps resides
Evil like moss entwined.

Between the stumps and hills
Reigns stench and primal bray.
As long as dogs guard the hills,
Coupons must be paid each day.



---------------------




Bureaucrats breed lies and blight,
Evil sits on every height.
Stumps of minds, the rotten thrive,
Truth must strike, and fight, survive!



---------------------




Bureaucrats rot the mind,
Truth strikes, leave lies behind.



---------------------




1. Evil rules the hills,
Stumps obey its wills.

2. Rotten minds, blind eyes,
Truth cuts through their lies.

3. Bureaucrats feed the plague,
Expose them — strike, don’t vague.

4. Dogs guard the hilltops,
While reason drops.



---------------------




Evil rules the hills,
Stumps obey its wills,
Truth cuts through their lies.

---

Bureaucrats feed the plague,
Dogs guard the hilltops,
While reason drops.



---------------------




Bureaucrats rot the land,
Evil rules with iron hand.
Stumps and hills, the rotten thrive,
Strike with truth — and fight, survive!



---------------------




Evil rules the hills,
Truth strikes, the rot kills.



---------------------




1. Bureaucrats rot minds,
Truth burns, their lies unwind.

2. Rotten hills, stumps rise,
Expose the fools, despise.

3. Evil sits on high,
Strike with light — watch it die.

4. Dogs guard the hilltops,
Reason falls, the stench never stops.



---------------------




Bureaucrats rot minds,
Truth burns, their lies unwind,
Strike with light — watch them die.

---

Rotten hills, stumps rise,
Dogs guard the hilltops,
Expose the fools, despise.



---------------------




Bureaucrats rot minds high,
Evil rules, while reason dies.
Stumps and hills, the rotten thrive,
Strike with truth — survive, alive!



---------------------



Internal Invasion

"The fiercest enemy of the people, an internal invasion, can be another state."
— Dmitry Merezhkovsky, In the Quiet Pool, 1896


An internal invasion
No longer shocks.
We live in occupation,
So used to blocks.

Without the enforcers
Nothing can be done.
Though dumb and stubborn,
They’re eager to run

Any plan of ghouls,
Of every vile fiend.
For now the herd’s content —
Eat, drink, and feed.

The rest appears as nonsense,
Yet heed the ghoul alone.
He promises happiness,
As if it’s all his own.

He scares the enemies,
And when war is near,
Leads them to slaughter
As if a parade’s here.

His rule is stench alone —
The media serves that role.
Thus the invasion
Seems merely foul.

We wait for Satan’s coming,
The ghoul prattles still,
Claiming he’ll be the new god —
For minds too weak to ****.

Strengthen the invasion —
The rotten regime endures.
But every incident
Breeds the vile, ensures.

Hence they raised the alarm:
“CowID’s here…” they cry.
They know they’re lost —
A new catastrophe nigh.

It awaits us all.
Meanwhile, fascism thrives,
And the whole “people”
Are busy with empty lives.



---------------------




Internal invasion spreads its blight,
Ghouls rule minds in endless night.
Stench and lies control the throng,
Strike with truth — resist the wrong!



---------------------




Ghouls invade, the herd obeys,
Strike with truth — end their ways.



---------------------




1. Invasion thrives, the herd is blind,
Truth cuts deep — leave lies behind.

2. Ghouls command, the people kneel,
Expose the rot, make horror real.

3. Stench and lies rule night and day,
Strike with light — burn them away.

4. The herd obeys, the ghoul decides,
Truth must pierce where evil hides.



---------------------




Ghouls command, the people kneel,
Expose the rot, make horror real,
Truth cuts deep — leave lies behind.

---

Invasion thrives, the herd is blind,
The ghoul prattles, fools obey,
Strike with light — burn lies away.



---------------------




Ghouls invade, the herd obeys,
Rot and lies rule all their days.
Expose the fiends, strike with light,
Truth must burn — resist the blight!



---------------------



Talent

The oblivion of talent —
The gravest of all sins.
All “burgers and trifles,”
Family — chains that bind within.

Often solitude alone
Is the best of all spheres.
There bursts and prophecies
Outshine the SEA OF FEARS.

Create, though it be hard,
Ungrateful is the way.
Else you’ll turn foul in a flash,
A stench and murk will stay.

Spreading over the world like a sea.
And only mind, talent
Remain like an island, though burning
Much there. “Giant

Of intellect” — here just myth —
Fools almost all around:
On that quiet “island”
Less madness and less sound.

The more you see, the more you know,
If less stench and murk abound.
You’ll only harm yourself
And overcome DREAD profound.

DREAD, STENCH — inheritance bequeathed.
Only talent can burn it away.
It’s the finest weapon here
To fight fascism today.

Many fiends abound —
Total genocide on the march,
And propaganda’s sting
Is poisoned, lethal, harsh.

Talent and mind — in this
All creatures bear the blame.
But the song is not yet sung,
When among the **** you rise again,

Continuing once more the Path.
With talent you are born —
Do not forget this truth.
Only support it, keep it sworn:

Usually only yourself
Can support it — so many fiends,
All around a living Hell,
Bedlam reigns, the world unseams.

Rely on none but yourself,
Step boldly forward, straight.
And laugh above the Bedlam —
No brother you have in that state.



---------------------




Talent burns where stench prevails,
Alone it fights, alone it sails.
Through Bedlam, dread, and endless strife,
Talent births the fiercest life!



---------------------




Talent fights where darkness reigns,
Truth and fire break all chains.



---------------------




1. Talent rises through the mire,
Burning lies, igniting fire.

2. Alone it stands, the gifted mind,
Through stench and dread, the path to find.

3. Talent cuts through Bedlam’s gloom,
Truth ignites, and lies meet doom.

4. In a world of filth and blight,
Talent strikes — a blazing light.



---------------------




Talent rises through the mire,
Burning lies, igniting fire,
Truth ignites, and lies meet doom.

---

Alone it stands, the gifted mind,
Through stench and dread, the fools behind,
Talent strikes — leave filth confined.



---------------------




Talent rises through the mire,
Burning lies, igniting fire.
Alone it stands, defies the blight,
Truth must strike — reveal the light!



---------------------



Shelters for the Weak

Shelters for the weak,
“Teachers’” feeding troughs, sects and schemes.
Isn’t there enough chains for the dull?
Need “spirituals”? Respect the memes.

For fools, for dullards blind,
Who bent to lies — worldwide.
It’s simple there — a “spiritual” kind,
A life woven in webbed tide.

That web entangles all,
Simpler than the dull world’s strife.
Through that web… the feeble mind
Falls apart… a pitiful life.

The “worldview” — a mass of lies,
If simplicity rules… the fake guru
Sends only mirages,
An “alternate culture” to pursue.

New Age and other trash,
Almost all brazen, stupid, untrue.
The criterion of truth — itself
Becomes terrifying, complex too.

Rotting in Hell — and suddenly “syrup,”
Sickly sweet to the extreme.
It drives your soul to the grave —
Worse than the fiends’ violent scheme.

The only path — go… INWARD:
Answers lie there, all “solutions”
Imposed here are murk,
Serving only decay’s illusions.

Though some things may cut
Against this wretched “mainstream” tide,
If you’re not an idiot,
Always stubbornly go aside.

Dig for grains amid the filth —
What the hell is “spirituality”?
The truth will reveal itself
If relentless persistence is key.

Hellish stubbornness in you,
Intuition — your criterion.
Though in this slave-like fate,
All “portals” and “doors” seem barred,

You’ll open them yourself. But not
By pounding your head as sects teach.
They teach you to be a slave,
Planting lies in your Soul, defects in your Mind.



---------------------




Shelters for fools, the weak confined,
Truth and fire cut through their mind.
Go inward, stubborn, find the way,
Expose the lies — and light the day!



---------------------




Go inward, stubborn, seek the truth,
Expose the lies — reclaim your youth.



---------------------




1. Fools hide in shelters, blind and weak,
Truth must strike — let fire speak.

2. Sect and lie try to enslave,
Go inward, fierce, and do not cave.

3. Among the filth, the truth is grim,
Strike with light — the shadows dim.

4. Shelters for the weak and vile,
Break the chains — reclaim your style.



---------------------




Fools hide in shelters, blind and weak,
Truth must strike — let fire speak,
Go inward, fierce, and do not cave.

---

Sect and lie try to enslave,
Among the filth, the truth is grave,
Strike with light — the shadows cave.



---------------------




Go inward, stubborn, seek the truth,
Expose the lies — reclaim your youth.
Strike with light through filth and shame,
Talent and mind — ignite the flame!



---------------------




Expose the lies, ignite the flame,
Truth and talent — strike, reclaim!



---------------------




1. Strike with light, destroy the rot,
Talent burns — obey it not.

2. Truth ignites, the filth decays,
Mind and talent blaze the ways.

3. Go inward, fierce, let lies fall,
Expose the weak, defy them all.

4. Talent fights where darkness reigns,
Truth and fire break all chains.



---------------------




Strike with light, destroy the rot,
Mind and talent blaze the ways,
Expose the weak, defy them all.

---

Talent fights where darkness reigns,
Truth and fire break all chains,
Go inward, fierce, let lies fall.



---------------------




Talent fights where darkness reigns,
Truth and fire break all chains.
Go inward, fierce, expose the lies,
Strike with light — let evil dies!



---------------------



The Real “***** of the People”

Greed plus vanity,
Laziness, and fear,
Not Orthodoxy —
“*****” in the dark here.

It holds the Soul
And presses it down.
Serve greed,
You’ll become a clown.

If vain, the truth
You’ll never find,
Through yourself, indeed,
Step there, confined.

Blindly chasing carrots —
All your greed displayed.
Blindly new trappings,
In the vegetables, decay.

It’s become much worse —
Greed destroys it all.
Consciousness shrinks,
Fear makes you fall.

Only focus
On the Soul alone.
It will wander dark
If you reach the bottom stone

Of greed and vanity.
Such is the scheme
Of this evil
That the fiend set in the theme.

Satan has this *****
Prepared for men.
You’ll be a pale copy,
For it’s HIS den.

Seek the light and burn
Yourself with its fire.
If the heat grows stronger,
The ghouls will expire.

Greed glorified by fiends;
They rule fools —
Drive them all to hell,
No mercy, no rules.



---------------------




Greed and vanity enslave the soul,
Focus within — reclaim control.
Burn with light, let ghouls expire,
Strike with truth, ignite the fire!



---------------------




Burn with light, let ghouls expire,
Strike with truth — ignite the fire!



---------------------




1. Greed enslaves, the weak obey,
Truth must strike, and burn decay.

2. Vanity rules, the ghouls rejoice,
Ignite your light — reclaim your voice.

3. Soul oppressed by fear and vice,
Strike with fire, break the ice.

4. Focus within, let darkness flee,
Truth and fire will set you free.



---------------------




Greed enslaves, the weak obey,
Strike with fire, break the decay,
Ignite your light — reclaim your way.

---

Vanity rules, the ghouls rejoice,
Focus within — reclaim your voice,
Burn with light — destroy their noise.



---------------------




Burn with light, let ghouls expire,
Strike with truth — ignite the fire.
Focus within, reclaim your soul,
Greed and vanity shall lose control!



---------------------



Label-Man

Paper tags are glued,
Stamped on you from birth.
You’ve become a blot of pulp,
Absorbing lies on Earth.

The labels strike the mind,
Invisible yet tight.
Price tags with descriptions,
To which you’re so affixed, right,

They’ve become a part of you,
Without them — can’t survive.
They promise “happiness,”
While hiding rot alive.

There are ideologies —
And you’re a living chart.
In truth — pure nonsense reigns:
The fiend just spins his art.

That fiend rules through lies —
Violence kept in store.
Deceiving is simple here,
Since reason’s dead and poor —

Almost dead… The ****
Have studied us well:
They stick their filth precisely
Where the mind is frail.

And always ARTIFICIALLY,
Frightening the herd,
Making them numb in an instant —
Only the strong then rule the world.

Paper tags are glued,
And all the glue’s from filth.
Strike with lies without a miss,
Poison the world with guilt.

Then all the herd
Will march as if to church’s ****,
And the fiends need the final fight
To crown their timeless will.

It’s simple — more nonsense
Must fill the fool’s mind still.



---------------------




Paper tags glued from birth,
Lies and filth corrupt the Earth.
Strike with truth, poison the herd,
Expose the fiends — unleash the word!



---------------------




Strike with truth, poison the herd,
Expose the fiends — unleash the word!



---------------------




1. Paper tags enslave the mind,
Truth and fire — break their bind.

2. Glued from birth, the lies remain,
Strike them down — reclaim the sane.

3. Herds march blind, the fiends rejoice,
Expose their schemes — reclaim your voice.

4. Labels bind, the weak obey,
Burn the lies — and clear the way.



---------------------




Paper tags enslave the mind,
Strike them down — reclaim the sane,
Expose their schemes — reclaim your voice.

---

Herds march blind, the fiends rejoice,
Burn the lies — and clear the way,
Truth and fire — they cannot stay.



---------------------




Strike the lies, reclaim the mind,
Expose the fiends — leave none behind.
Burn the herd’s blind, false disguise,
Truth and fire — let darkness die!



---------------------



Economic Cattle

Logistics… of people:
They herd us like cattle, fed
By devils’ hand. Yet fools believe
The “best of worlds” instead.

Long ago the fiends held all,
Treating humans like mere swine.
And even in the terms we use,
The cruelty’s by design.

But fierce revenge will come —
The ghouls will rot and die.
Those who kept Spirit, Honor,
Will rise before history’s eye.

Take note — lest you become
One of the herd, like ****:
Traitors, cops, officious drones,
The rest of the vile, the numb.

Ignore them all — seek only Truth.
It lies within. Defy fate’s chain,
Walk your path, escape the abyss,
And you shall rise again.

Logistics of people thrives
At the bottom, in the pit.
Wake yourself — the world’s asleep
In Hell’s own nightmare writ.

The Soul alone is real,
All else is burning Hell.
Create, fight, and act with haste,
Or vanish in its smell.

The stench of Hell embodied
Today in fascist schemes.
Idiots and fools can’t see,
Blinded by their dreams.

Debilism spreads like plague,
Hence CowID can arise:
Hell’s revenge begins with lies,
A false pandemic in disguise.

All is lies. One law remains —
And this is genocide:
Spirit, Reason driven out,
The Mind nearly died.

A cataclysm may help —
Thus vengeance will take form.
All fascism will perish,
And those with Spirit, Honor, rise reborn.



---------------------




Herded like cattle, fed by fiends,
Seek the Soul — ignore their schemes.
Strike with Spirit, fight the lies,
Honor survives, while darkness dies!



---------------------




Seek the Soul, ignore the fiends,
Honor survives — strike their schemes!



---------------------




1. Herded like cattle, trapped and blind,
Strike the lies — reclaim your mind.

2. Soul alone resists the herd,
Truth and fire must be heard.

3. Spirit rises where fiends control,
Honor fights — reclaim your soul.

4. Cattle march, the ghouls delight,
Burn their schemes — unleash the light.



---------------------




Herded like cattle, trapped and blind,
Strike the lies — reclaim your mind,
Honor fights — reclaim your soul.

---

Cattle march, the ghouls delight,
Burn their schemes — unleash the light,
Soul alone resists the night.



---------------------




Herded like cattle, trapped and blind,
Strike the lies — reclaim your mind.
Soul and Honor rise to fight,
Truth and fire consume the night!



---------------------




Strike the lies — reclaim your mind,
Truth and fire consume the blind!



---------------------




1. Herded like cattle, trapped and blind,
Soul and Honor break their bind.

2. Strike the lies, defy the herd,
Truth and fire must be heard.

3. Cattle march, the fiends delight,
Burn their schemes — reclaim your sight.

4. Spirit rises where darkness reigns,
Strike with fire — break their chains.



---------------------



Strike the lies, defy the herd,
Truth and fire must be heard,
Soul and Honor break their bind.

---

Cattle march, the fiends delight,
Burn their schemes — reclaim your sight,
Spirit rises — strike with might.



---------------------




Strike the lies, defy the herd,
Truth and fire must be heard.
Soul and Honor rise to fight,
Burn the darkness with your light!



---------------------



Machines and Not Quite Machines…

Built like a “Peugeot,”
Just Me and Jo,
To carry another’s load,
And never be your own.

They ride on you,
As if not by spite?
Bring a little home,
Fate mocks your right.

Trained from childhood —
“It’s the law,” they claim.
Throw it out —
Unless you’re a fool to blame.

You’re meant to fly,
Not drag a load.
Killing your Soul,
Obeying, lying — the code.

You lie to yourself,
And rot inside.
This junkyard of MACHINES
Leaves no reason to abide.

Endure no more —
Crush to dust
This machine world
That’s wretched, unjust.

Built like a “Peugeot,”
Yet the sky is fresh —
Fly away fast,
Leave the ghouls’ mesh.

The ghouls ride on you,
Masters of illusion,
Experts in deceit —
Their trickery spreads, a confusion.

Stronger, stronger,
Break this vicious round.
This circle of vice —
No friend among the unbound.

You are not Me, nor Jo —
You are Spirit. That’s good
In the Sky. So soar high —
Leave the vile, the crud.



---------------------




Built like a “Peugeot,” yet meant to fly,
Leave the ghouls and their deceit to die.
You are Spirit, not their load or chain,
So rise, break free, escape the pain!



---------------------




You are Spirit, not their load or chain,
Rise and break free — escape the pain!



---------------------




1. Built to soar, not drag their filth,
Break the chains — reclaim your self.

2. Fly, not carry another’s load,
Leave behind the ghouls’ dark code.

3. Rise above the machine-made trap,
Spirit free — escape their crap.

4. Not Me, not Jo — you are Soul,
Shatter their lies, regain control.



---------------------




Built to soar, not drag their filth,
Break the chains — reclaim yourself,
Shatter their lies, regain control.

---

Fly, not drag another’s load,
Leave the ghouls and their dark code,
Spirit free — escape their hold.



---------------------




Built to soar, not drag their filth,
Break the chains — reclaim your self.
Spirit free, rise to the sky,
Shatter their lies — let darkness die!



---------------------



The Decay of Slaves

The decay of slaves
Is “scientific” here — so many schemes
Installed: breeding fools
Forms the base of all these dreams.

Of them, and of the others too,
Considerable funds are spent:
No mere compliant psyche is needed here —
A subservient mind, with no inheritance.

Knowledge that could lead
To Light, revealing truth —
They’ll cram the nonsense in
From childhood — lies in full uncouth.

You must lie “by science,”
To sharpen the effect,
Killing the Soul,
Filling the Mind with defect.

The fiend succeeded in this —
Already at rock bottom,
Its link with the Higher severed,
Only mental filth is shown.

The slave mixes the muck,
Proud of the limit reached,
The body weakened too —
Genocide here is harsh and beast.

Genocide is not by chance —
Research drove it all.
So the World’s Mess is human-made,
By cattle who built the hall.

Empathy is foreign to those
Who’ve arranged this scene:
Fear and whining won’t help —
Abundance of both here is keen.

We must study the fiends,
Just as they studied all of us.
Restore our link with the Higher,
Before the Mind decays and rusts.

Go inward — only Spirit saves.
It gives the answers, points the way.
We’ll overcome Hell’s servants —
Toward the Light we must stray.



---------------------




The slaves decay, the fiends prevail,
Their lies in minds like iron nail.
Go inward, Spirit shows the way,
Rise to the Light — destroy their sway!



---------------------




Go inward, Spirit shows the way,
Rise to the Light — destroy their sway!



---------------------




1. Slaves decay beneath their lies,
Spirit rises — Hell defies.

2. Minds enslaved by fiends’ designs,
Go inward — break their binds.

3. Lies and schemes will crush the weak,
Spirit strong — the Light will speak.

4. Fiends may rule the world they’ve made,
Rise, Spirit, break their charade.



---------------------




Slaves decay beneath their lies,
Spirit rises — Hell defies,
Go inward — break their binds.

---

Minds enslaved by fiends’ designs,
Rise, Spirit — crush their lines,
Expose their filth, destroy their signs.



---------------------




Slaves decay beneath their lies,
Spirit rises — Hell defies.
Go inward, find the Light inside,
Break the chains — let truth be guide!



---------------------



Human Trash

Clear without surveys:
Not just stupid stumps,
About the trash percent —
Ninety, at least, they lump.

Many sources
Tell us this truth.
They are not quarrelsome,
Yet spare no civilian’s youth.

CowID revealed
The filth — the traitors here;
Those whose minds are dead,
Soulless, with no fear.

Soulless masses shown —
A darkness thick and vast:
“Law-abiding” carriers
Of the yoke, unsurpassed.

In any group,
A clever mind will see
The lice — the dead ones,
Forever lost, they be.

They are simply zombies —
No longer human kind.
Zombies worse than bombs,
So many — fate unkind.

Here the final age —
No prospects left to find.
Negativity clings tight,
Into the mind and mind.

Negativity from Hell —
Super-evil, raw and deep.
They make fiends through lies,
Malice sowed while you sleep.

Artificially created
Is all this sea of pain.
Only a TRASH feels nothing —
In them, nonsense will reign.

On average, the world
Is nonsense, pure and bleak.
Not just critically bad,
But fatal — havoc they seek.

Irreversible,
Wrought by fiends’ intent.
But the “happy” trash?
So he dies — no lament.



---------------------




Human trash spreads lies and dread,
Soulless, zombies, the living dead.
Go inward, Spirit sees the light,
Rise and strike — expose their blight!



---------------------




Soulless zombies, filth and lies,
Rise, Spirit — break their ties!



---------------------




1. Human trash rules, darkness spreads,
Spirit rises — crush their heads.

2. Zombies, liars, endless ****,
Go inward — strike, and overcome.

3. Filth abounds, the weak are trapped,
Spirit strong — their power snapped.

4. Lies and fiends have filled the land,
Rise, Spirit — strike with hand.



---------------------




Zombies, liars, endless ****,
Spirit rises — strike, overcome,
Go inward — crush their hum.

---

Human trash rules, darkness spreads,
Rise, Spirit — crush their heads,
Expose their lies, destroy their threads.



---------------------




Zombies, liars, filth and grime,
Spirit rises — strike in time.
Expose the lies, break every chain,
Rise to the Light — destroy their reign!



---------------------



Fascist Madhouse

Psychotic, psychotic —
Through the madhouse I go.
These wild years are upon us,
The rotten world in throes.

A global madhouse, fiends
Long busy with dulling minds.
Now they revel in the terror,
Pouring fear on the confined.

Filth of idiocy, cretinism
Spreads its horror through the land.
Greater foolishness can’t exist,
Murk and propaganda expand.

Evil ******* of deceit,
Strengthening the split in all.
This is no joke or tale —
Fascist rule pervades the thrall.

World fascism too, indeed!
If Fascism enters the madhouse,
Then disaster’s certain —
All these faces now a louse.

These creatures turn the fools,
Vile inhumanity reigns.
Amid media smoke and smog,
The mind is nearly slain.

Soullessness widespread —
Few retain a human spark.
All else in this half-demon world
Sinks toward the blackest dark.

Half-human, half-demon —
Psychotic nearly all.
See it for yourself,
This hellish, endless sprawl.



---------------------




Psychotic world, madness spreads,
Fascist lies fill hearts and heads.
Rise, Spirit — shatter their reign,
Light destroys their endless pain!



---------------------




Fascist lies and madness reign,
Rise, Spirit — break their chain!



---------------------




1. Psychotic fiends, the world insane,
Spirit rises — crush their chain.

2. Madness rules, lies flood the land,
Strike with Spirit — make your stand.

3. Half-demons, fools, the mind enslaved,
Rise, Spirit — show the brave.

4. Global madhouse, darkness spreads,
Break their rule — awaken heads.



---------------------




Psychotic fiends, the world insane,
Spirit rises — crush their chain,
Expose the lies, destroy their reign.

---

Madness spreads, fools rule the land,
Rise, Spirit — strike with hand,
Laugh at liars, break their strand.



---------------------




Psychotic fiends and half-demons reign,
Spirit rises — shatter the chain.
Expose their lies, burn through their night,
Rise to the Light — reclaim the fight!



---------------------



Furry-Snouted Fiends

Furry-snouted fiends,
From hellish worlds they rise,
Roasting humans in their flames,
But first turn fools, unwise.

******* drowned all truth in lies,
And this is no mere jest.
They feed on those who blindly trust,
Believing “worlds are best.”

Yet clouds are thickening —
Hell trembles, shifting, tense.
All movements come from Hell itself,
Its mask of souls immense.

If souls decay, then hurry forth
To yet another Hell.
Focus deep within your Spirit,
Multiply your critical quell.

All dung-born flies, all lies alike —
Send them to Hell’s domain.
They roast not with fire,
But with deceit, minds wane.

Awake, see clearly,
Judge this Hell for what it is.
All madness unveiled, you’ll see
How fiends plot, none amiss.

No accidents exist,
Their law is foolishness and dread.
Masters of lies, their aim is clear —
Drive the Spirit from your head.

Concentrate within your Spirit,
Fight all ****, all deceit.
Cast out darkness, banish lies,
And in the Spirit find life complete.



---------------------




Furry fiends from hell arise,
Deceit and lies cloud human eyes.
Focus Spirit, strike the lies,
In your Soul the True Light flies!



---------------------




Hellish fiends spread lies and pain,
Rise, Spirit — break their chain!



---------------------




1. Furry fiends from hell descend,
Spirit rises — break, defend.

2. Lies and darkness cloud the land,
Strike with Spirit, make your stand.

3. Hell’s deceivers, fools at play,
Rise, Spirit — burn their sway.

4. Madness rules, the liars grin,
Break their chains — let Truth begin.



---------------------




Furry fiends from hell arise,
Spirit wakes — shatter their lies,
Expose the darkness, claim the skies.

---

Hellish fiends, fools in the fray,
Rise, Spirit — sweep their lies away,
Laugh at liars, crush their sway.



---------------------




Furry fiends and hellish spawn,
Spirit rises — break the dawn.
Expose their lies, burn through their night,
Rise to the Light — reclaim the fight!



---------------------



The Poet’s “Construct”

The poet’s “construct” —
Not a trifle, but complex.
If you’re no fool,
The THEME is of utmost weight.

The harder the theme,
The more strength it drains;
No simple scheme works there —
“Watered-down” won’t sustain.

Great mental flexibility
Is needed, and the soul’s high flame.
If frailty shows —
Consider yourself lost to the game.

Poets gaze into the Abyss,
And the Abyss gazes back.
Yet “useless” to the herd —
The crowd needs no poetic track.

A filthy task,
And none worse exists —
By the standards of fools.
But if the world is nonsense,

And you offer ANY alternative,
Even with no prospects in sight,
You’re not wasting yourself in vain.

You prove it to yourself,
And dreams loom large.
The sharper your truth,
The less your life is barge.

Though the worth may be small,
It shines step by step;
Clarity emerges —
Each foe is easy to detect.

Poetry exists for clarity,
And nothing else it is made;
Though it has conjured much filth,
Its value will not fade.

Fear nothing,
Burn bright, don’t just glow.
Without unrest —
The grave lies in your way.

If “cutesy fluff” prevails today,
You’re already dead.
It’s not about taste —
Fascism is strong and crude.

Poetry is a weapon
Against Universal Evil.
If your legacy is syrupy sludge —
You’ve become the fool, the devil.



---------------------




Poet’s construct — not for fools,
Hard themes demand mind and soul.
Burn bright, speak truth, don’t bow to lies,
Clarity shines, each foe exposed.
Poetry fights the Universal Evil.



---------------------




Burn bright, speak truth — fools will rot,
Poetry’s sword cuts Universal rot.



---------------------




Flare the soul, strike truth — the herd will fall,
Poetry reigns, a blade against all evil.



---------------------




Flare the soul, strike truth — let fools decay,
Each lie exposed, each fiend in dismay.
Poetry burns, a sword through the night,
Against Universal Evil, wield your light.



---------------------




Burn, soul, burn — fools rot in your flame!
Strike lies down — let no fiend remain!
Poetry’s blade cuts deep through the night,
Light crushes Universal Evil with might!



---------------------




Burn soul, strike truth — fools rot!
Poetry smashes Universal rot!

---

Ignite the soul, crush the fools!
Poetry rules — Evil breaks, no rules!



---------------------




Flare the soul, let fools decay,
Strike each lie, no fiend shall stay.
Poetry reigns — Evil falls away!

---

Burn your soul — let the fools rot!
Smash all lies — crush every fiend!
Poetry strikes — Evil bleeds, undone!



---------------------




Ignite, strike, burn — let Evil fall!

---

Burn fools, crush their lies — let Evil choke!

---

Strike within — let Spirit blaze, Evil fall!

---

Soul burns, fools rot, lies crush, Evil dies!



---------------------




Soul ignites, lies shatter, fools fall!
Strike hard — Evil bleeds, undone for all!



---------------------




Burn lies, crush fools, rise!

---

Ignite Spirit, destroy Evil!

---

Strike Evil, awaken Spirit!

---

Crush Evil. Burn Lies.

---

Awaken Spirit. Shatter Lies.

---

Burn Lies. Rise!

---

Expose. Scorch. Revolt.

---

Spirit Strikes Evil!

---

Rise, Spirit! Crush the Darkness!

---

Shine, Spirit! Annihilate Lies!

---

Light Strikes Falsehood!

---

Truth Burns All!

---

Spirit Smashes Lies!

Dames dimeless during durations of
duress, unless  uniform wardrobes
in cuneiform earlobes eloping in last
gasps of breath, breathed by an opposite
***  on a raft drafted and crafted by
bureaucrats that sat upon rat traps.

The fat cats gasp under last laughs.
They can yap about the fallen all day
and paid based on grades in a vicious
cycle of buy - sell - trade. They caved in
as Persians sigh at the fading world
hurled beneath convuluted swirls of black pearls.

The world shall fall as they fall
In their ruin, everything will follow
And so it ends

Bring in the seraphim
Tear the pure clouds, reveal the gods above
If doubt is a stronger virtue
Then I am its paragon

Women fall at lofty feet in a harem
Gorging on peasants' spines 'till faces turn mauve
Fear is the new moral breakthrough
A scale higher than the utmost echelon

The world shall destroy as they destroy
In their ruin, everything will follow
And so it ends.

The snake bite no longer stings
Calloused as a tyrant's compassion
The purest hands do grow relentless weeds
As they laze on the filthiest plots

Kings and hearts mount to slings
Foreboding most malleable deception
Blood spills bright on their letterheads
As truth gets set by red-handed bureaucrats

The world shall burn as they burn
In their ruin, everything will follow
And so it ends.

Marksmen are wealthier than diplomats
Golden bullets to the golden rule
The trend is to laugh at our silence
The principle is to break lives not dictates

There lies no purgatory for these aristocrats
On to the vile ember cesspool
Until then, they fawn in worldly omnipotence
And not one revolts, not even conscience

The world shall end as they end
In their sceptre,everything follows
And so it goes on.

‘Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!

                          H. W. Longfellow

When bureaucrats, with obfuscation
monotone in data-speak
and mumble to their mutinous nation,
bloodless vessels spring a leak.

Scan in vain the rolling breakers;
leadership is out to sea.
Overscripted undertakers
claim to speak for you and me…

The Ship of State, adrift, becalmed
floats on; a most ill-fated craft.
The body politic, unembalmed
begins to ripen fore and aft.

The crew, grown callous to the rot
and numbed by such expediency
with one last desperate cannon shot
forsake all hope of mutiny.

While computers spit statistics,
crewmen spread the expectant word;
(no more trust in mere ballistics…
hope delayed is hope transferred.)

“Make ready to abandon ship !
The captain’s just a talking head.
Lower the lifeboat, let her rip –
before, like him, we end up dead…”

The Ship of State is rent with breaches
data-leakage, data driven –
the lifeboat flounders, coral-riven
seeking distant wave-washed beaches.