spare me the art form to leave it unto women!
spare me! make prone to ride a horse,
shoot an arrow from a bow, and weild a sword,
don't make me, this! make only women bound
to it, akin to the pashtun, leave me sacred, bound,
to care to the billionth remark as a plumber might,
and yes, revisionist as all might be,
                 for isn't there a fear
that with reincarnartion there
came only come a set number of
Noah compatiorts?
       how are we to esteem, or
indeed redeem the said quota?
who to say failure: without a battlefield?!
  to what altar?! i ask, to what altar?
a couch and a ******* t.v. altar?
you be god or mere boredom?!
      a death in war be a spark,
and above that a flit,
and above that a flame....
    and that means should a congregation
partake in the passed wisdom:
all but one are excused..
   but pray! leave me with an oath
an ancient greek might have said:
that these women bring nothing
but turmoil... and that they should
be left, best cleaving to
    a moment's adrift, care toward
symposium of a wave...
i was never born to be ***...
       and i never will be...
shame...
mind you: i was never born an ethnicity
of vermin... and that's salt,
that's really salt, whether there's a wound
or there isn't one...
have your Knightsbridge and
24 carat plating encrusting copper... have it!
     i'll fall asleep, and have my war
contra crux.
          because, i dare believe,
i have no ethnic boundary,
or a care to remember...
                           that if i had any...
i was never rat, or metaphor...
so i am prone to faking it...
demoralising its significance...
      for a cause i am afraid to ask a: what for?
once there was a tale that a nobleman owned
a horse... and he was the most esteemed
cladden of the sort...
later came the footsoldiers and their banners...
and lastly: i can't believe i just woke up;
i am bound to daydream the past,
and heaving perfect standards of modern technology,
i am with limbs, bound to be without any...
i can't even be bound to a prison to
try to escape it...
                  why did i begin to write poetry,
with poetic populism afright, and the safety card to send
men to war.. if they remain: only half literate...
       i really need gills to breath in this
air... it's too sulphuric: not when my ethnicity
be compared to rats... not again, not another german
scheisseladen in tongue of anglo-saxon...
   if that's how it going to be...
please give me the gift.... cos i sheisse ain't
about to look at the magazines of vogue like
a human, anymore!
you call this human? i call this lesser than animal,
o.k.?! dogs and cats get better treatment
in the west than i... i might as well endorse
a jihad... just to wake certain peoples up.