The blemishes of this world,
Like a necklace that was never pearled

Rooted in deception and hate,
Everyday they mutate

Misinformation spreads faster than COVID,
Discriminating messages promoted

Blood in filthy hands,
The mafia smiles smug and it stands

The ill never acknowledged,
Tainted memories forever collaged

This is The Crisis,
Must there be any bias?

“These are the times that try men’s souls: The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country but he that stands it NOW, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman...yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.” Thomas Paine, The Crisis

What election has left us over the years, (divisions?)
Two and two doesn’t equal four any more in voting booths
Pulling the leveler, to cast ones votes doesn’t registered
Our candidates have already been chosen.
Our way of life is but a passing stain..(Permanent)
However, the flag of justice will wave either in mast
Or half-staff:

The matrix is just another name for institutions.
The ones that own you.
Come here, number 258-65-4562.
Provides you social security in that you are only a number.
Tallies on what they can take.
A way to count you.
Devalue your spirit down to a decimal.
The monetary value of what you can contribute.
A worth they just can never seem to buy into.
Enslaving our people, cattle to which they devour.
An empty stomach with a pit in it.
Pit seeded from eve’s apple.
Turning brothers to thieves with slightest taste of power.
Authoritarians filled with greed.
Putting our sons into attires that strip them of their generations.
Giving them guns to spite our neighbors.
All for those who we are nameless.
An extra decimal, partial space to a means as an end.
Hanging off the sentence of history rewritten in the favor of those who should be forgot.

220 000 is Unjust
220 000 + 1 is unjustly better.

Write between the lime juice lines,
And basil blood,
On the cutting board
To the rhythm of cooks' kitchen knives,

Write between the wet mop tendril trails,
On the reused restaurant floor,
As you carried to clean
A mistake some rich man made,

Write to the beat of the press,
Punching out the steel form,
In accordance with the curriculum,

Write in the silent moments,
Chewing homemade sandwiches
Through the cigarette smoked sunrise

Write between stun grenade blasts
After cleaning tear gas attacks

Write in between ****** boot prints,
The shape of the state seal
Congealed to the street.

My homeland!
You have been watching your crippled borders
with wistful looks for gloomy centuries
Soon we will wipe your bloodred tears
after heroic and holy adventures

Yet you are in a deep disappointment
because of the hands lent to the unscrupulous
But never unlearn the destiny ever:
history is always betrayed,
talents are envied,
virtues are misused...
They love politics, not the history,
'Cause they have a historical fear
and it reminds them how they had been abused...
I have found even their "sumptuous" justice
which is carried in their ***** bulky pockets...

My dear,
It is very near,
In Karabakh, the stars will twinkle in a joy
50 million times I will mention your name
and to Jıdır we will be running bare feet.
The echoes will fill the preconceived ears
In Shusha, I will call you,
In Tabriz, we will meet...

the   view
                            stands beneath
the carousel efforts
to blast through
impregnancy aBLOOM!!!!
(w)ith feral legacies
aligned intimately ornately
     posthumous adulterer
awakens    in               need
       of
****** corrective agency
towards Fenitbow
           and Glightrovee  ab-surd as
qua as qua
asqua aqua qua
a^s is trite melody infer[no]
t a x i     yellowing  each pavement
by truth in yo ' fa ' ' lo ((lo))
    i by horns and turns
in plyable waves arrest
what justice      juices
      freel_y
                          oblig­atory
                                      antecedent
quai noyh thlume
                            ye
           HEaVY