do you remember capital letters?
the upper case that i seldom use?
remember how i used to use them?
if you scroll through my poems you will see that i did.
but then you happened.
you didn't steal them from me
but capital letters indicate strength
and because of you
i am weak.

Scared from my bush with no name
They will brain wash the impaired
Such hefty goals they hide behind
Filling the holes you dug in their mind
Empty structured used to hold our souls
Constantly Walking down dank desolate halls

Feeling a strange comfort, yet impending doom
With every minute creeping closer to death
I do hope you cherish your last few breath
Soon all deranged intent reveals itself
You'll Find the TRUTH in finding yourself
Nothingness, the curtain closes over us

Pay to live, live to pay, pay to pray
Go down the line of our institutions
The line dead ends at supposed reality
Know now the solutions to vanity,
will come in due time. Ending your time
Minds grave stayed a slave, slave to stay

Walk the grey line.
Brain wash the impaired
The Morbid thoughts
Brain washed society
Do  not be scared
of what we can't see
This personal
separation.
Hear vibrations
Feeling natures stair.
Strife not the end
Climb the tree of life

Thought deprivation, and oral defecation. Plant the seed
Repair wounds of time. Knowing everything must feed
Isolation growing intense psychology distorted mind
Undiscovered complex perversity living inside of the  
There are some driven by the destruction of adversity
In Life and death, I tell you revision isn't key

Direct your inquiries to thriving minds
Be still in your decisions long pondered
Remove your mistakes, remove your memories
Time breaks for insanity, in alternate realities
Not acceptable. UNIVERSAL descent, a shame
Monetary gain, owning rights to humans brains

Its all about the capital and its punishment
The day we all thought would come true
This day we will soon enough forget.
New life surrounded by decay and death
We know  you won’t, but you really should
enjoy the carcass. It will all end soon.

To many people fearing the day they’ll die
Open to the window of opportunity
Look through the window to the other side
If what you found was lifeless, run and hide

This recrimination brings no reprieve
but nor does it change the violence conceived
and ill-prepared were we for this siege
as families swell with undeserved grief

the questions he asked were slow and
mistaken, like the actions he took before
like was forsaken, as now we stand but
one stretch away, the condemners  
facing those who we make to pay

the crimes they committed were
wrong, that's fact, but all else
is blurred and they cannot retract,
but repent is not favoured to the
guns which will sing; flesh will be
punished as we pull the strings

we did not know where it was he
was directed, but the ****** chains
were ones we had elected, adding
safety to the very last limps of life,
yes we all fired the bullets, 
but at what sacrifice?

We institute procedures as a tool to obtain substance.
We design metrics as a tool to track and ensure that substance is obtained.
But then, the tool becomes holier than its own purpose.
When we value procedure over substance,
we sacrifice substance for procedure.

///
the ladies look odd---
****--
helpless, powerless---
shaky-

when I see
girls waiting at the corner of the road,
in front of a brand new black Ford
red lipstick with red rose--
in a nightclub with a **** model pose--
buying, selling and contracting
with thee,
they are paying, trading,  
and making  X- Film,
online *** service,
growing *** worker,
making capital to grow capitalism  

I can't do anything,
only I can sigh,
I am too worn only a smile
and making a sad love song for her(victims)
you, my friend, hear in a car
and moving so far

Ah!! my friend,
'O' ! my love--
you see, we are in dark!
slowly and slowly we feel,
how the poison grabbing our body and soul!!
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

Dans les rues de Port-Louis, il fait bon dix-huit heures.
Ou chercher, dans cette ville bercée de sueur
Le fantôme de cet acharnement de vie
Qui noie les sens de lumière, de chaleur et d’envie?
Dans les aboiements rauques de ces cabots rois du soir?
Dans le son des volets qu’on baisse de façon vénielle?
Dans les pas qui s’éclaboussent sur le trottoir
Les maux de cette étrange promesse d’étincelle ?
Dans les rues de Port-Louis, il fait bon nuit d’hiver
Grise comme lasse de ces nuées de couleurs incendiaires
Elle s’éteint le temps d’allumer les étoiles,
Peintres bien plus dures que leur jumelles estivales.
L’écru de leur toile est teinte de la froideur du blanc.
Quels soupirs s’emmêlent aux clous qui habitent ses vents?
Quel chant quand la pluie crucifie ainsi nos flancs?
Est-ce celle de cette ville bohème, de beauté fille de sang?

we take a breath
I have a smoke
thank you for giving me your cold
you rub the menthol on my chest
I hold the camphor to my breast
sometimes all it takes is just a jacket button to break.

10 minutes on they'll drink champagne
and have their fun with party games
everybody yelling "cheese"
10 minutes from a third-world country
in the shadow of the rock
they don't have anyone that'll help
there isn't garbage on the ground
its the street that makes up the whole town

I know you don't even want to talk
You won't even take my calls}
After three years on and off
I would do anything at all.
Have the child of my blood
Then with blood I'd have enough.
Just a picture fairy tale
For a man with a cold and betrayed.