Bigotry has a smell of death
The fuhrer would watch piles on piles of empty flesh
In the summer of 1941
On the grounds of Auschwitz, that place weighed heavier than a ton
Years after the shoah, would this understanding begin to unfold
That nothing stains the soul more indelibly than loathe
What do the blind see?
Your oratory abhorrence they forsee
They see, not your bitter visage
But their ears crush under the muscle of your burning rage
What do the deaf hear?
Even years after the passing of a yesteryear
I suppose, they hear words, like skin caressing skin
Your tirade tearing their tissues like a throw of javelin
Along Its path, since decades, turning into centuries
Before times were tamed
Even after times were maimed
Our tongues have plucked
Incessantly
The plumage of quarantined birds
With stubborn shame
And a sequence of demise ensues
Their voice also dies, so does their silence
Because after all
Bigotry has a smell of death

Blood.
Blood from paper cuts,
bloodied knees from falling all day
Innocent blood that transferred to bed sheets and
I began to hide, its profanity that was sacred but
I never understood.
And here I am, no more appalled, celebrating the beauty of blood.

To oceans that sway at her feet, clouds that melt in her mouth
Trees that whirl at her sight, the earth that swoons at her touch
Her scent that pervades in the air that you breathe
Constellations that fathom into her being
Love that resides in her heart, fear that rests in her mind
Her eyes divine and holy, two sable crystals in a sky full of milk
Her lips pagan and profane, like pomegranates ripe and rotten
The blush of her cheeks, like blemishes on a silk scarf
Her smile that enchants you, that you wish was yours or she was yours
All music that lowers to diminuendos and all senses that nether to bliss
Her presence that is all-encompassing, her attitude dulcet and demure
Her valley is the valley of love and worship that smells of zest and warmth