On the highest peaks or the lowest darkest depths
In health and strength or broken, weak and nearly dead
In the midst of love and joy or rejected, exiled and unknown
In fullness of knowledge and assurance of the good will
Or bewildered and baffled, in perplexity stumbling and lost
With songs constantly singing, resplendent in angelic aura
Or utterly silent, crying beyond tears, covered in ashes of mourning
At the table, listened to and honoured by kings and princes
Or a starving slave forgotten and chained in the dank dungeon
But unseen in the flesh, unknowable unless heard,
is the Word, "I am with you," and that suffices for Life.

Finally, the door emerged, bound in chains they stood,
Immobile and oppressed, their spirits misunderstood.
A blinding light ahead, rendering them sightless, blind,
Their burdened minds weighed by the ashes left behind.

Pressed together, yearning for one backward glance,
Denied even a fleeting chance, their hearts in a trance,
Before stepping through the door of no return,
Leaving lives and homes, forever spurned.

In that somber moment, sorrow weighed heavy on their hearts,
Facing the musky boat, unsure if a new day would start.
Crossing the threshold, bidding farewell to their past,
Embracing the unknown, the die of doom was cast.

With a resounding thud, the door closed, severing ties and fears,
Silent weeping, lost in the sea of their silent tears.
Bound for distant shores, spirits eternally broken,
wrapped in cold melancholy, their tragic story spoken.

Making a living Wage from the living Word
Inevitably shades, obscures, taints and corrupts
Betrays the apparently living Faith
And exalting the Man than the Word

Balaam refused silver and gold in public
But embraced death's wages in secret
Certainly the labourer deserves his dues
But from his Master and not from fellow labourers

If the lives you saved leave you hungry
But for your whip, perhaps they're yet slaves

ACME TIRE FACTORY
The system was so slow to use and the boss was always on our back
Hurry hurry get your fingers out this job depends on you
I’ll fire your sorry arses if you go any **** slower!
My company and big fat profit depend on you lazy gets doing this job right
Don’t dawdle and stop gossiping about your Saturday nights
I’ve checked the order already and it’s only half done and needs to be sent
For that you can work thru your dinner hour without pay and eat after work
See what a good boss I am to you all I will treat you at Xmas
And so it went on day by week by month by year by decade
ACME TIRE FACTORY was always this way with a slave boss
And unhappy ******* workers who were no better than slaves
Why did we stay in the job when there was the dole doing nothing?
We were all mates and drank together every Saturday to forget this
Plus we also worked deliberately slowly to **** the boss off
We could live without eating dinner when our boss was upset
Our tools and line was ok but outdated so we milked it
It was us who ran the tire factory not him and he knew it
We could shut him down or burn his company without interference
We made 2 out of 3 vehicle tires on North American roads
Why change a good thing when we hated but loved it?

The world is a ****** up place
a place for the mindless
a place where a mouthful can be mindful
a place for you to be sad.

The world is a ****** up place.
and you will try to escape it,
but the rangers of the world are relentless
pity them, for they do not know that they range
pity them, for they do not recognize the darkness they carry on their backs
pity them, for they think their escalation is supreme
pity them, for they are ****** up too.
Pity them but do not join them,
this is for your own good-
the true good,
don’t you join the traders of the world
don’t you join the keeper of keys
don’t you join the giver of things
and don’t you join the maker of slaves
for this world is put in front of you as a test

A test!

Mundane concerns stifle
the soul that hungers for the infinite
Practicality subverts the mind
as it questions and wrestles with
this existential enigma...

Bound by the curse of productivity
and the insatiable drive for accumulation
Libidinal, perverse thoughts
drive the working man

to this, to that...

he is a puppet pulled by invisible strings:
the corporate, bureaucratic masters
calling the shots
laughing control freaks...
the world is theirs for the taking
and the worker-slave raises his hands
a sense of triumph
as the crumbs fall down

We live in a Kafkaesque era
merrily languishing
in this willful dementia.

Saying to your health
In the meaning of his words,"
Do not let any food without covering
As you do not know who was passing over
or by its boundary
you do not know who was smelling
or breath in it
if it is difficult to cover
put a rod or long knife or spoon over
to give the meaning of moral

if you get up after sleep
do not touch any food
before you wash your hand
as you do not know where it was

when the Friday comes
you must wash up
to clean your appearance
and the inner soul
and put good smell

use the toothpick
at every pray
to clean your teeth
, get good breath
And get satisfy of your God
And strength your teeth

When the prophet sent the messengers
To kings and the princess
to let them know the new religion
Islam
The governor of Egypt admired
He sent to the prophet of the present
It was a donkey female, two slaves' girls
The honey and doctor
the prophet accepted all, but he returned the doctor
He said," we do not need him
As we do not eat until we get hunger
And if we eat we do not get full"
In his meanings and words

He said,"the stomach is the home of the illness"
," if you want to eat
Do not get full
If you want
Let third for your drink
And third for your breath"

We know persons who dead by throttle
As they ate and slept
Without getting time to let the food digested
Or get ordered in abdomen

When the delegations came
To enter Islam and get checked him
He learnt someone has leprosy
He told his friends to let that sick out
And he blessed and prayed for him

When he finished his defecation and urinate
He performed ablution
He ordered his followers to do it
He ordered not the sick entered to the right
And the right goes to the sick"

Except if he had his protect

Only friend I’ve ever had
Was my dear ole slave dad
He told me once, think about your future
Forget about the south’s criminal past
Cotton pickin’ and turnin’ plow, on a plantation field
He never once saw the money that it did yield
Big boss said, he almost cleared the books
Plantation bosses are the real crooks
Daddy gave them a fistful, got a spoonful in return.

you are so self-centric
full of yourself
like we should worship you
we don't matter to you
only your wishes and aims
nothing more or less
you sell us like slaves
make a fortune off our backs
not caring if we love or hate you
you're oblivious to us
your image on all the magazines
your fame is number one
as you are number one
we are number zero
infinitely below you
you our boss who loves
all the cash we make you
from our blood sweat and tears
it has always been this way
the moon spider feeding
we food to the hunter
but we say enough!
this ends tonight...