The kids must sit
on the pew;
not on your lap.

Let them eat the Hostia;
not the mentula.

Let them taste the sweetness
of the holy wine;
not the bitterness of your saliva.

They must learn to love Jesus;
not your ****

and

you
must spread His holiness;

not their legs.

you
must take his soul in His holy place;

not their innocence.

Where are the children today?
They were playing in the fields just yesterday.
‘Where are they now?’ you say,
it seems they have gone somewhere else to play.

A deafening silence fills the air,
the soundtrack to a parent’s nightmare.
Maybe this is just a dream,
you didn’t even hear them scream.

The wind wails, pushing the swing,
maybe it’s trying to tell you something.
No little ones can be seen today
as the sky turns grey from the smell of decay.

Could it be everything you ever feared?
Perhaps they have just disappeared.
Maybe they’ll return for a story before bed
or maybe their clothes are stained with red.

The sun is rising but the birds don’t sing,
the absence of children is a peculiar thing.
So, where are the children today?
Maybe they have gone somewhere else to stay.

The ground beneath trembles in fear
as people realise the attack is near.
No time to pack they run towards land
fear in their eyes, a child in each hand.

The ocean drags back revealing the reef
while onlookers watch in disbelief.
A wall of white horses gallop ashore,
eager to destroy what was there before.

Screams drowned out by the roar of the beast,
charging ahead, hungry to feast.
The wave reaches out with a cold heavy hand
and snatches the palm trees from the sand.

This hand born by the stomach of the sea,
bulked by plates, coughed out, set free.
A bully of a giant fed with dread,
a tall curved spine and white froth on its head.

As the wave devours the town,
its once blue belly turns murky brown.
The further it travels the more it hunches,
snatching rooftops and throwing punches.

Where the wave passed through a carpet now lies,
lingering devastation and distant cries.
Amongst lost lives bodies are found,
homes destroyed, spirits drowned.

Women are Human,
When you utterly feel
the power of this one line,
World will automatically turns so divine!

By; Nida Mahmoed

He was a little child
Who loved chocolates
His dreams were
To be among the 'greats'

He loved his mom
And other family members
His birthday was just celebrated
With the family he remembers

Went to his school happily
To learn
Life's lessons
And be good in turn
But such was goodness
Who would know
His dark chocolate love
Would bury his life
In a brutal snow.

A bus conductor
Who had on him
Dark deep eyes all day
Just like an eagle
Who waits for his prey.
He was 'chocolate' uncle
To this lil one
So that day
He had some dark fun
Called him to the washroom
Tempting him
To his love chocolates
Smiling he went
Unknown that
His life would be
In a shambles

Out came the knife
Then you know
Severed was his throat
Left we're his eyeballs
Horrifyingly slow
Before this
Did he see
Some
Dark fun
If the uncle
As he played
With his childhood
And right through his pants.
But know
Won't be seen
His happy face
Brimming with joy
And dream's play
Oh society
Do you grow
So grey
With neglect
With ***** minds?
This is what I see
And wish to so
For we don't know
This li'l soul
Would be born again
Or no....

tender beatings
delicate bones
beautiful tears
comforting pain
consented ****
willing victim

.esnes sekam lla ti dna

There were two steel skinned brothers.
One was a passivist
the other a warrior
and wherever they went
they gained followers.

Two righteous brothers
split in their own conflict,
wanting justice,
but unable to work together.

One would sit and meditate
while enemies struck fiercely.
He convinced whole families
to join him
and when he was attacked
they were attacked as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the passivist brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.

The other brother
would rage against
the abusive power
battling Knights
and Samurais.
He went wherever
there was oppression,
fighting was his obsession,
and being steel
he did not even feel
the cold hard strikes
of arrows, swords,
and knives.
People would follow him
and when he fought
they fought as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the warrior brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.

Blood means nothing
Unless it's staining the streets
Family has no merit
When they don't even See me

You want me to be passive?
And let them spew racist hate?
And all that "gendered" *******?
You can't stop me, too late

**** the systems that oppress us
These prisons are stealing lives
Locking up innocent people
It's a form of modern genocide

We are all human
But our brothers are killed by police
And our sisters killed for their gender identity
But you'd rather look the other way
And defend hateful "free speech"

I am aware of my privilege
And I will not stay silent
You turn your eyes away from police brutality
But try to preach anti-violence

Our country is run by the white and the blue
While the red is the blood of its people
We need to look up at reality
And stop focusing on the steeples

Your hopes and your prayers
Do not end the violence
Instead they teach hate
And oppressive silence

She told me what he did.
How he slid
his fingers
inside of
her,
how he pushed
and grinded her,
despite the pleas,
how he stopped her
when she tried to flee.

After the confession
I felt the fog of fury
consume me.

I set loose
my rage
and scarred his face
with scores
of scratches
and deeper cuts.

I slid my blade
inside his gut
and saw bits
and chunks
of vital organs
dribble
from
the gaping wound.

What fun to see
this dark adult
gasp and bleed
flapping like
a fish
grasping
for the ocean’s embrace.

With serial killer efficiency
I cleaned the crimson stained cutlery
and left him there to stare blankly
at the concrete.
Then I burnt my cloths
and wrote this note
for you to find
when I die.