Like it, Hate it
The truth won't change.
You might say religion,
Or mask it in Karma,
Or just call it sad,
That turn of events were.
Like Pontus Pilate
You will never ever
Wash your hand off,
Never Wash off the blood.
Worse, you will never
Be remembered in prayer.
Purgatory will turn on you.
Where will you go
When thousands grab you,
Where will you go
When riots burn you?
For all those who were cut
and burnt even in wombs,
You will answer how?
No Hindutva will save.
No rioter will survive.
Like it, Hate it.

Allen Ginsberg, a raving madman, a man beyond the borders of normal
      once said, “Poets are ******, but see with the eyes of angels.”
His ranting howls, mere paradoxical clamorings (LOUDER).
His bootless, penniless, homeless cries, slight nonsensical musings.
His power subdued, his passion put-out, his well of enumerations run
      dry…

Can you hear him?

(LOUDER!!!)

Are you even listening?

What do holy angel-headed hipsters like he see?

A myriad of star-crossed artists, poets, gurus, and monks?
A tired and beat batch of street corner hustlers, homeless and hungry?
A drunk in the back-room bar?
A stumbling, shadowy silhouette in the by-street (an enigma...)?
An old man, philosophizing to everyone and no one but himself?
A juke box stuck on repeat?
A young couple, making love with their feet under the table?
A trio of jazz musicians out back for a smoke?
A bar maid making minimum wage, or nothing?
A priest who's losing his conviction?
A down-n-out loner, dreamy, dazed, dashed,
      staring at the bottom of his empty beer glass
      (who will buy the next round)?
A nosey cop?
A rosey fop?
A belligerent racist?
A beat runaway?
A child begging? (there are so many...)
A fed-up fanatic? (too loud, too loud…)
A would-be protester-rioter-anarchist, giving up and going home?
A giggling girl, flirting, with her skirt hiked high?
A show-off with an inferiority complex?
A shy recluse, too afraid to walk through the door?
A power-hungry politician, his propaganda blasting through the static of
      a detuned radio advertisement, paid for by (who are these people?)?
A struggle, never-ending, ever-renewed, always there, always alive,
      but only seen through crazy, mad, angelic eyes.

Assaulted by memories
Like
Carrion birds to carcasses
Remembering your words
But
Somehow still struggling to know whose heart this is
And whose chest or grasp it’s in
If
It’s been ripped free by a maniacal beak
That from the beginning knew that it would speak those promises in truth
Nevermore
Or
If it’s still there locked away in my chest
Like an all too ready rioter’s fist, shaking at the bonds it’s in

Rioter.
              Look in the mirror.

Is this the way

      you

            want to make a difference?

I seeith the ember's
Over the affluent man's head,
They hideth their treasure's
Underneath their Bunker's and beds...
Feeling alive
Their soon to be dead
I'll be in the cloud's
The widow's and hungry need fed.
Let the planet be filled
With its own spit
They've forgotten love
And it's themselves they forget...
Putting time into money
And money into time
Locking innocent's in jail
Whilst doing evil crimes
The time hath come
The red doth run
No more laughter
And no more fun...
The rioter's loot
The anarchist's gun....
The bomb's shalt explore
Their minds to implode
Wherein the devils will falter
And the veil wilt collapse
No media attendees
Wilt giveth their stash
All to be hidden
Though opened by all
Their secret's revealed
In a holy flaw

**** hundreds with bombs and guns.
Terrorist you are.
Outright you'll be hanged for your actions.

**** hundreds with swords and fuel.
Rioter you are.
You may go unpunished for your acts cruel.

**** thousands with lips and tongue.
Leader you are.
You'll be hero for millions of old and young.

Who Are You?

You are the illegal alien who burns my country’s flag
You are the teenager who breaks my shop’s windows
You are the one in the hoodie who spat on the Veteran in a wheelchair
You are the **** who hit my daughter, the cop, with a brick
You are the one who firebombed the courthouse
You are the rioter who put me out of a job
You are the ‘demonstrator’ who vandalized my apartment building
You are the activist who looted the stores
You are the gunman who kills dozens of people every week in Chicago
You are the ******* who hobnobs with the rich and famous –
Because you are too.

I don’t care who you vote for.
I despise you for what you do.

You’re so stupid you think it’s sincere :
Urban violence designed to spread fear.
It’s a crisis they use
When they win, we all lose;
Civil chaos. The methods are clear.

Angry rent-a-mobs, looting and burning,
Destroy other’s livelihoods, earning
A good rioter’s wage
For destruction and rage
(As the locals, too late, are now learning).

The democrat leaders in Minn.
Are uncertain just where to begin
Cleaning egg off their faces.
They egg on the races . . .
The narrative’s starting to spin.