The morning star defied the godly beam of divinity:
     The star feeding the vines of evil embracing bodies,
Saying “no” since the grand affliction, to the trinity,
      It is Morningstar; the devil - Courage he embodies.
        
Nameless angels envied the free one of the chain,
      Light and of light they were, yet the opposite beats -
Beats in their hearts - jealousy and wrath remain,
      In the servants with no will in their celestial meats.

An upholstery of fragile sins to test the son was.
      He stood for the fire, and O! Flames hurled upon,
Banished and loner, the voice of every lost cause,
      In the streets, skins and days that cease to go on.

How shall we and he defend not the selves created,
     With a consciousness ideal and stark, by the almighty?
The almighty himself, who selfishness in us dictated,  
     We, makers of evil, goodness and charming Aphrodite?

He fell, greeting the stars, wavering a throne above,
    And shedding a ****** tear for a sin in the creation.
A sin with no faulty one committing - the sin of love,
    Self love, the “sin” Morningstar fought for its liberation.

In the heart of the city of peace, a sinful act occurs:  
         Blue bruises of love beautify my neck, just as hers;
Colouring this grey canvas of gloom with divine thuds,
         It is then, when they rush into us: the filthy bloods.


Stain me with sins, and paint in white over me vigorously,
          Let the gods who created us, design our hell rigorously,
Let knees rumble, red eyes tumble, and virtues stumble,
          Stumble into a chaotic loss of heads: a loss humble.

Cultivators of silent corpses seed plague, in the ignorant,
Across webs of lust and greed where they will bleed, and pray.
In the motley virile fictions they intoxicate the disempowered,
Dominating with illusions and indoctrinated stories where they prey.
What feared is the interpretation of the vice, not the tyrant,
That is when, history becomes a weapon to, a future, portray.

In writhing thickets of hair the salt of the vengeance is ambient,
Each who was indulged within false Utopia will then repay.
On wounds, salt, time will pour, for the witling faded poor.
That is when, we rinse our papers and end this spurious play.

Scripts to them are art to perceive to what benefits and sells.
Nations are blocked with blind belief of man but not the superior,
While rulers control their puppets, and puppets drug with pills.
Doubting and standing against is remote, it is the ulterior.
With words and malice they steer heads, and penetrate the cells,
Building their heaven upon our hell, where we stay the inferior.
Imprisoning the gospel truthfulness in themselves, the rotten cells.

The times of miracles are over, and prophecies are fulfilled,
but freeing ourselves from mendacity would be our grand miracle.
Salvation is waking up from a fancy dream, and a truth spilled.

Heaven, O, Heaven, is the path to you through intentions or artifacts?
They are hallowing the moves, the writings but not the heart's acts.
Heaven you are not close in a place like this,
They "follow" the man to achieve, but all they do is miss.
They miss God and make out of people a bliss.
Compensating for the void with the material, marching to the abyss,
A "renaissance" they claim, while we here the truth reminisce.

Mon coeur est confus, J'ai le cœur en aller-retour,
Quand je vais trouver enfin l'essentiel? Ici, je suis secoué,
c'est possible? Suis-je le seul esprit qui ne soit pas doué?
ou la verite est-elle, quelque part, écroué?
Repondez-moi, est la vérité dans l'oubli ou dans un carrousel?
la vérité, je vais, avec mon cœur, avec vous, me renouer.

It is the silence of the truth, that makes the sound of lies loud,
It is the paralysis of rationality that leaves peace unfound.
It is the loud not that rational that guides the crowd.
It never was what they vowed.  

You are a "master" that is creating a disaster-piece

It goes from one hand to another, the cross,
Throwing it from one hand to another, with no loss.
Selling angels and demons, sending to heavens and hell fires,
But O, the lives are not a coin you toss.

Je ne vais pas donner ma langue au chat
Le salut est entre les mains des gens, cette fois.
Ce n'est plus pas entre vos mains, Monsieur.
Aujourd'hui, le chat ne mangera pas ma voix.
la liberté est un choix.

I despise myself for not being the obedient you could cherish.
Shall I follow or shall I purge out the poison and perish?
If I am gone, my writing will be there in the dark, garish.

Actually, you are a "master" that created two disaster-pieces;
A corrupt generation, and me; the one whom you, despises.

I am glad I am enslaved to no one, but my "rotten" thoughts.
I lost my home; my peace. Today, I cannot connect the dots.
Tomorrow, you will be the first to take a sip from my tea,
When I sew a better reality with my weary knots.
My home; peacefulness, is given away to the kids,
To the cats, to the birds and clean pots.
Call me by my name, when he applauds.

Bigoted devouts restrain the tide of enlightenment,
Holding in the scriptures but releasing interpretations,
Folding in the gospels, and putting a leash on nations,
Molding with fictitious to-be empires, but remaining in the same stations,
Scolding if off the told people thought, pledging salvation,
Lording with deceit, triviality, naivety - creating crumbling generations.
A lie was for our misery the foundations.

Cherry red blood is spilled, to reach the cherry red wine,
Recited the defiled with agendas in the people's shrine;
Where they forget they are mud, not the divine,
Where they ignore that they are to teach not to define.
Where they are to manifest ataraxia not after false victories dine.
The corrupt stay behind, and send the innocent to the frontline.

Believing is easier than thinking,
Hearing is easier than reading.
We blame ourselves, not that who caused the drought,
We curse ourselves, not that who ignited the blackout.
Relaxing is easier than risking,
Sleeping is easier than sobering.
On each other, not the responsible, we shout,
We have been building for our own fallout.

Today, you are either right or left,
To them, the left are not right,
To us, the right, us, has left.

Today, politics triumphed over religion,
leading humanity to bend towards chaos;
The chaos following the dead peace pigeon.
Prophets would be ashamed if they saw us.
Prophets would be ashamed of how they sew us.

Mankind, not history, repeats itself;
Then, Jesus was crucified for preaching the truth on a cross,
Now, whom the truth sees lament receives – orders "the boss".
Revelation was their gain but living was their loss.

The dance of ignorance marks our era,
The revelry howls into their ears,
But isn't opening a mind, only a bra.

Smoke is what we learned from Chimera,
Hangovers, falsehood, imbecility - unrestrained
Their most loyal friend, is dear nausea.

Drugs and **** brings them the aurora,
Living is nice, when we are unconscious.
In this reality, we are no Andromeda.

Advocacy of the unknown, is their chroma,
Defines their existence and ensures a legacy.
All is, a pseudo pride, and a fictitious corona.

Injustice, corruption ghosts within the area
Multilateral sins, unilateral sentence,
Flows into their logic like satisfying aria.

Bogus beliefs, to rise, and rule are a plethora,
Empty imposters control, destroy and mooch,
And what we see is an illusion of an aura.

Defiling the Quran, the bible, and the Torah,
With what a gold holder wishes and needs.
Whomever defies them, loses their aorta.

All will be fallen, America, Europe and Russia.
Hatred, arrogance, saturation of trivialities,
Is taken in, in grace, like the seduction of Delilah.

Concerts unify us, not our humanity, it's in coma,
Lack of fellowship, digs deeper into division.
If only books, not Lady gaga, were your holy diva.

The void will swallow us all, the diaspora,
The loss of our identity, truth, entity and ego.
Finding our roots, is our everlasting dilemma.

Flooded lungs. Pale parts, loom.
Don't worry, your soil will need the water,
To bloom.

Laboured pump, Crushed heart.
Nevertheless, with you, a redemption,
Shall start.

Aching body. One last breath.
You will defy divinity, and beautify,
Dear death.

Dry eyes, thin shrunken skin.
Starred in a perishable gloomy world -
In the original sin.

Lids closed. Veins calmed.
The redness turned into dark blue,
A rose growing into delphinium.
She was their life-giving dew.

Hyperventilation. Reared begs.
"For them, let me live. Let me raise,
My kids".

Wet floor. Screams around.
Mumbling in an arcade of life or theft,
But, here comes the hound.

A mortuary. Coldness penetrate.
"Sirens proclaimed its honor,
Rhymed with shluddering mayday".
She's now at god's holy bay.

A cemetery. Viscous worms.
Suffer to cuddle brides, crawl in thorns,
In the valley of eternal thrones.