wings of birds were stolen by the gods, centuries ago
an earth's day lasts for 86, 400.002 seconds
children are roaming in the mind of these lines
they are counting, playfully and without feelings
days come and go, they float through our lives
i wrote about the stages of dreams and dreamt of an ********
the ruins of old poems are silver, blue and red
remains of a day's thoughts, decoded and clear, similarly
it is not wise to count seconds while you are breathing
it is not wise to count on people while they are leaving
it is strange to use "wise" in order to refer to cleverness
people of color may feel excluded by our languages
in german, "white" is called "weiß" and that sounds like "wise"
explain to me the origins of such a word, i demand it
before the river will have swallowed me; i demand an answer
poems come, poems go, leave a trace, stain – and a change
fools are flodding the streets in order to have a five o'clock tea
proudly, they are talking about their old heroes, bearded conquerors
these guys nevah really wanted to dig strangaz, dey killed 'em.
they killed unknown people, they stabbed my dreams
they murdered ancestors because they were used to murdering
they invented words without speaking but grinning
power is an invisible instrument that consists of hierarchies
power is what we see and oversee, power is the origin of wars
wars are the origin of despair; and that is nothing new
wars, though, may be invisible and silent, just in the mind
what is a war, does a war need bombs, guns and soldiers?
wars occur everywhere, daily, within 86, 400.002 seconds
the length of a day is measured in numbers; they are just inventions
numbers are man-made, animals orient on the sun and the moon
humans celebrate planets and write poems about them
we all will surive as long as we keep writing and tolerate each other
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 9:16 AM UTC
wings of birds were stolen by the gods, centuries ago
an earth's day lasts for 86, 400.002 seconds
children are roaming in the mind of these lines
they are counting, playfully and without feelings
days come and go, they float through our lives
i wrote about the stages of dreams and dreamt of an ********
the ruins of old poems are silver, blue and red
remains of a day's thoughts, decoded and clear, similarly
it is not wise to count seconds while you are breathing
it is not wise to count on people while they are leaving
it is strange to use "wise" in order to refer to cleverness
people of color may feel excluded by our languages
in german, "white" is called "weiß" and that sounds like "wise"
explain to me the origins of such a word, i demand it
before the river will have swallowed me; i demand an answer
poems come, poems go, leave a trace, stain – and a change
fools are flodding the streets in order to have a five o'clock tea
proudly, they are talking about their old heroes, bearded conquerors
these guys nevah really wanted to dig strangaz, dey killed 'em.
they killed unknown people, they stabbed my dreams
they murdered ancestors because they were used to murdering
they invented words without speaking but grinning
power is an invisible instrument that consists of hierarchies
power is what we see and oversee, power is the origin of wars
wars are the origin of despair; and that is nothing new
wars, though, may be invisible and silent, just in the mind
what is a war, does a war need bombs, guns and soldiers?
wars occur everywhere, daily, within 86, 400.002 seconds
the length of a day is measured in numbers; they are just inventions
numbers are man-made, animals orient on the sun and the moon
humans celebrate planets and write poems about them
we all will surive as long as we keep writing and tolerate each other
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