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Diary of Jane Feb 2018
Concrete jungle
with swarms of people
more like robots,
less like humans,
always running after something,
round-the-clock,
and striving for something,
without even knowing what.
Confused, lost souls
forgotten to smell the rose,
give away time freely
as if time were endless.
Life is measured in-
how many degrees you earned
and the figure you have for your salary.
Families at home,
often neglected,
but we are doing it all for them,
and not for showing off to the society.
Relationships are more for-
status updates and Instagram likes,
but we don't have time for each other,
except may be on Valentine's day,
cause that is mandatory
to glorify our unconditional love to the world.

The cities are filled with buildings
after buildings,
but let's fill up that waterbody too;
there's no room for people after all;
who needs the greenery or nature?
Let's take it all.
We are humans.
We are supreme.
Everything is ours to claim and reign.

What a grand delusion we live with!

What have we done to the world?
What have we made of ourselves?
The title says it all.
Edward Coles Sep 2016
The line of freedom was drawn,
fortunate passports found
amongst the rubble of Ground Zero.

The future was not a boot,
more, groping hands through
intimate pockets
and blue light that decimates
the privacy of dreams.

No concentration camps,
Bernays fuelled the fire­
in a wolf's disguise
until the crowd would herd itself.

No Aryan prophecy-
hatred more efficient
when its hands are untied.
Small disparities linger
the stem of deception:

the bottom-feeders are sterilised,
benefits withdrawn, foundations exposed
as ******* palms gather the loot
they lifted through the ceiling.

Sensory comfort provides
the leisure of a clouded mind,
a blood sugar spike,
the Soma of our time.
Under halogen lights
they make love in the high-rise

then labour in sleep
for what love cannot afford.

Continents divide.
Africa: the cold shoulder.
Asia: the factory line.

Oceans swell in neoprene heat
as sling-shots are drawn
beneath a dying star.
Old skull of Palestine,
cross-hairs on the White House
and a contusion in Pakistan.

Doors of perception only open to addiction.
Separate from G-d ,
draw more blood from the ground
like a smoker in the inexhaustible
process of quitting.

A belief in infinity
that will last until the world's end.

The line of freedom was drawn.
Everyone believed that they were on the right side.
C
camps Feb 2016
i look up and see the light

and the IV that drips w/ Red Bull injecting me and keeping me alive with (liquid) Die Antwoord pumping through my veins. The doctors and the nurses with their coats and bourgeois manners tell me I won’t be able to even remember my name. S/O to the Surgeon General and Cuban cigars. Styrofoam cups in a sterile prison, there are rats for that besides, the tile looks too expensive for me to scratch at with my PlastiDip nails so I pull out my P O L A R O I D to take a snapshot of the moment and make sure to take the time to filter it with my favorite shade of Ray Ban®

left the underlined blank empty at the front desk and called myself an ÜBER so that I can hit the melodramatic streets that glow bright with neon and shiny Magnum wrappers before I cover myself in a new age burka that reeks of Louis Vuitton and automatically nods at fretful ghosts. Featherweight, yet polite, the stream of particles surrounding me takes the shape of an Ibanez and is starting to soothe like VIX. This world is a Technicolor pixel that has just shattered, yet I could trade an Android for a KitKat bar and still be able to tell you what the electric sheep are running from

it’s just like that time back in France where cigarettes burned my nose and you were scared of dying. If you had asked me, I would have told you it’s not too bad, everything in your brain turns to ecstasy - but you wouldn’t have it. That’s the thing, you’re more concerned with those cross hatched squares of metal on your teeth than the privatization of water so why should you remember that while purple rain is nice to look at, it burns the skin? Instead you looked at your pencil sharpener scars and said “paint me like one of your *****” but last time I checked, I only carried lint in these pockets, at least that’s what the Hospital said, so if you really wanted to, we could go back and connect the dots

i look up and see the light

and the IV that drips an elixir that tastes just like Heineken…
no no no. Sign my afterword with a kiss and your sweetest remarks


& don’t forget to smile at the trees

xoxo
an ode to the modern age

— The End —