~
It should be stark
and unprovoked,
yet fight to conceal.

It should justify
its intrusion
by layering
new narratives:
each a wonderland,
each a poison.

It should spring
like a cat,
cloud like doubt,
evaporate like
cigarettes at dawn.

It should backlight
truth, fictionalize
history.

It should undo
reality, drift into abyss
with the Lady of Shalott.

It should lead
the march into the sea,
it should die gracefully.
~

Low-Grade “Intellect”

Low-grade “intellect” at play —
Stone-age nonsense, dead and grey.
It respects obedient sheep,
Has no room for wit that’s deep.

Few exceptions still remain,
Fewer yearly — that’s the strain.
The BEAST turns fools to broken clay —
Its crushing grip grows day by day.



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



Obey or Rot

No mind, no spark — just dead routine,
Praise the brute and serve the machine.
Mockery’s banned, resistance crushed —
The herd obeys. The world is hushed.



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



Crush the Swine

Dumbed-down minds in chains of lies,
Mocking truth, while freedom dies.
Cattle bred by fiends in power —
Rot sets in. It’s their fine hour.



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



Ashes of Thought

Brains are gutted, hope is dead,
Wretches crawl where minds once bled.
No revolt, just vacant eyes —
A world that thinks no longer dies.



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



No One Will Return

The lights are out. The sky is sealed.
No wounds to heal — all hearts congealed.
No cry, no fight, no final breath —
Just silence, rot, and crawling death.



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



Statistical End

The numbers drop. The curve is clean.
No rise, no fall — just flatline screen.
The system notes: “All functions ceased.”
No mourning, wrath, or wrath released.



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



After the Last Word

No echo left. No blood, no trace.
No ghosts remain to haunt this place.
No eyes to see, no lips to name —
Just drifting dust. No one to blame.



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



Observed Anomaly

A flicker gone on Sector Three.
No signal since — anomaly.
A trace of carbon. Slight decay.
Life-form: expired. Logged. File: “Gray.”



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



That Which Remains

No shape, no name, no pulse, no cry.
The stars burn out. The void drifts by.
Yet thought — not thought — persists, unmade:
No light, no dark. Just silent blade.

Not witness. Not the flame. Not ash.
No grief. No time. No final clash.
It is, without a place to be —
A breath beyond eternity.



--- Total 9 poems. ---

Emptying night soil
From the bucket

Evoking memory of Romantic
Dinner 'neath sparkling
Chandelier.

How intertwined we are
Prison, Hotel
Body, Soul

Lovers soil and sparkle
Together