Whirlpool of whirling quaint
Inequality brewing in the
Winepress of smithereens
Fragile polity.
Voices of weariness cried
Out from the wasteyard of
Waste for succour,
Pointing fingers of
Recrimination towards
The abyss of drouth ,
Entangled in conflicts
Of interest.

Winds of improvised emblem
Bearing hunchback of
Woes,
Raising hands from the
Drowning deep sea
For rescue like
A dejected beautiful
Vigaro in a
Turbulent ocean of quarrel
With her spouse.

Whereas reddish fluids of life
Runs across the same veins
And arteries of haves
And haves-not but
Cottage of interests
Hoisting avalanche of
Rainbow-coloured flags
Standing aloof on the
Pole of misrule,
Demarcating their interests.

No accommodation for wants
In the corridor of affluence.
Wants on a trade mission
With wealthy but caged in
The confinement of wealth.

Winds of inequality blew
Whirler of wants into
The marrow of the
Haves-not.
Rains of inequality passing
Through a lockage of lack
Into the improvised,
Doling-out poverty to
Gain the control of
Wealth.

Alas! Blindness sees inner
Vision of darkness from
The households of political
      lamia.
Alas! Deafness hears
Discordant vague voices
Of failure from the forest
      of frustration.
Alas! Dumbness speaks
Language of gnomes out
Of the vale of forgotten
      treasures.
Alas! A four year tenancy
      turning into decades
      of challenges.

But we shall revive our hope
      and raise our voices
            tomorrow.

We humans have
Lots of silly excuses
All the time
From dusk to dawn
And in all seasons
Whether spring or autumn
And if winter or summer

We always complain for
What we don’t have
Lacking this and that
And so on..

But we never
Count our blessings
Our mind
With no retardation
Our eyes
With no blindness
Our ears
With no deafness
Our tongue
With no dumbness
And our body
With no disability at all

Even though
Most of us
Believe that
We are not talented
And lack so many skills
But we never think
How a disabled person
Got so many vibrant calibers

Some can write
With legs
Some can dance
With one leg
Some can swim
With no legs and arms
Some can paint
With no vision
And all that
Mind blowing talents
With such disabilities
Is something
To learn about

But have we
Ever thought
Why can’t
We have that abilities
And the reason is
We don’t have an urge
To do anything
We have lots of facilities
Around us
And thus we don’t need
To sharp our brains

We live in pleasures
Like in a full swing
And thus
We don’t know
The pain of a
Handicapped
The darkness
Of a blind
The communication barrier
Of a dumb
The hearing impairments
Of a deaf
The financial constraints
Of a poor
And the loneliness
Of an orphan

We humans
Born as ordinary
And thus
No need to think
As extraordinary
We mostly learn from
Our mistakes
And so about the
Urge for it

When we get  
A sincere urge
It results to a
Turning point in life

So why can’t we
Challenge our disability
And make it an ability
Let’s rebound our abilities
To make it a miracle
And enjoy the worthiness of
This graceful life

Boredom kills
cheap thrills.
Nothing to do,
no one to *****.
No drugs
No *****
No smokes
No fun
Think I will sit
for a bit.
Think as I scratch and twitch.
Neurotic fears
****** fantasies
Sociopathic comments
Psychopathic actions
I don't care anymore.
The fuse has been lit
and there is no water for miles.
Bang bang *******
bang bang boom.
Amongst the rubble a bitter poem
A poet in trouble that shouldn't have been left alone.
Burnt
Charred
Dead.
Smells like...
Agony
Fear
Dumbness
Numbness
Aggression
Depression
Hate.
­Hate.
Hate.
Hate.

If Love is sacrificing all I have had,
I will embrace hatred
For you are my favorite part.

If Love will set us boundaries,
I'll call out an all-out-war
For you are worth dying for.

If Love moves in mysterious ways
Which will make our fate intertwined
Which will make our destiny falls apart
I'll be a thief to steal the pen.

If Love will make us suffer
Which these invisible chains have our bare feet
Which will ruin our veins
Then, let us together be at peace.

Might in another world,
Hatred is our wings
Revenge is an art
Mysteries are the music of the harp
And suffering is heaven.

If we can't meet on our way
I'll surrender myself on fire
Nothingness I had
Dumbness I felt
Weakness I got
Only even a second of your touch
Then, Love let define us.

Dear boy who I threw my virginity at,

I never expected you to like me,
I purposefully picked you because I thought you were a **** boy.
We'd **** and forget.
I was some random chubby senior
and you were some random ****** sophomore.
But then you didn't let me leave,
even when I tried, you only held me closer.

I liked you because I thought you must honestly like me.
I liked you because I could not see how someone like you
could like someone like me.
You went for the skinny, blonde, dumb ones,
I was not skinny, nor blonde, nor dumb.

And I liked your dumbness, your childish innocence,
even though I was way more innocent than you.
I liked that you defied all my expectations
when you were sweet, and vulnerable, and there.

And I loved when you were ratchet,
when you'd slap my *** in public,
or try to force your hand down my pants while I was driving or on the phone.
I loved it when we'd go to parties and not actually show up because we'd just be ******* in my car.

But I was leaving to college and refused to ever call you my boyfriend but I liked you.
I liked you because nothing about us made sense,
but we did it anyways.

and then I ****** someone else, just to show you have much I didn't care about us, but I did.

Dear man who I played,

You came to me when I was at a low,
low point in my life.
I believed nothing I did was wrong and everything about me was perfect.
I was fine,
even if everyone around me told me I was not.
I was not fine.

And then you came to me,
and you were everything I was supposed to avoid.
You were way older than me, worked for my father and even dated one of his exes, and your life was going nowhere.
You were perfect.

And I didn't like you that way, you never gave me butterflies,
you never made me giggle every time you slapped my ***,
but you made me *** and our relationship made me walk on egg shells.

And I saw you fall for me, I saw you wrap yourself around my finger
saying the whole time you expected nothing of me.
And maybe that was true, but you wanted it all, you wanted all of me
and I craved that.

And now every time I see your name pop up on my phone I feel grimy.
I feel grimy because I can finally feel the weight of how wrong you were for me,
I feel grimy because of the overwhelming guilt I feel for feeling disgusted by you,
someone I never liked but almost made fall in love with me.
because of the overwhelming guilt I have for being such a ****
and the shame of allowing myself to be so cold.

so I stopped responding.

Dear boy with the beautiful eyes,

I liked you, I really liked you.
I thought we fit together so nicely,
and yes, at first you were another that I was not supposed to go for.
You could have been fired and constantly had a gun on you.
You were supposed to be protecting us
and that was ****.

And then you whispered sweet things in my ear in your broken english,
and we spent a whole night only kissing, and I loved every minute,
yearning but not needing more.  
I could have kissed you forever.

then came the staring, you'd look at me and say nothing, and I was mesmerized.
and you'd trace my ****** features and I never felt more special, more wanted, more loved.
and I never wanted you to stop staring at me because I never wanted to stop staring at you.

and then I was at your house,
with your lovely, hippie family.
and you made me breakfast and tea, and we read together on the couch,
each in our own language.

and every time we ******, you'd look into me and I felt like maybe this is what people meant when they said making love.

You'd wrap me in your arms, and I never wanted to leave,
but ever comforted by the fact that in a few weeks I would be leaving
to a different country, to a different life, to somewhere where
I would not have to face my growing feelings for you.

and now I sit with a heavy heart, half way across the world, missing you and your beautiful eyes.

Dear boy who gives me bruises,

I think I like you, and it scares me because you do not live half way across the world.
You live down the hall.

It scares me because you are smart, weird, fun, and someone I could actually date.
And I don't date, I ****.

It scares me because I still have nightmares that your ex/my ex-bestfriend will still ****** me if she ever knew we were *******,
but thats another story.

I like the way you are unapologetically odd,
a slob and sometimes completely antisocial.
I'm always sad when you don't sleep over after ***
but I enjoy how awkwardly you say good night and leave.

But I love how ***** and rough our *** is.
it's not the best *** I've had,
but its *** with you that I always want to have
and its the same *** I fantasized about in high school while watching ****.

it's so twisted
and I twirl in the mirror, admiring the countless bruises covering my *** and spattering my collar bone.

We've boxed ourselves in this drunken corner
of such ****** up *** that I think were scared to do it sober.

I love our drunken after-*** rambles about philosophy and life
but as soon as the ***** runs out and the sun rises,
it's all the same awkward laugh and shifty gazes at the floor.

and I wonder what the **** I'm trying to do with you, this boy who loves memes and rough *** and has such a brilliant mind,
and the answer is I have no ******* idea.

And when I'm honest with myself, I think I like you because you don't like me so all this fear is for nothing.

but I wait for the ***** to flow again and the sun to set, and for us to do it all over again.

A language spoken so well around the world.

My teachers would use the synonym “irony”.

I simply disagree. Sarcasm is showing the obvious by saying it isn’t. Irony is simply having the world hate you. And, being someone you’re not. It has many definitions but I’m here to talk about something else. So here goes:

Sarcasm.

A language spoken well around the world.
My teacher would use the synonym ‘irony”.
It makes things seem different.
It shows annoyance.
Some don’t get it,
But that’s the beauty of it.                                                                  ­                       
Most use it for fun,
And a joke is cracked.
But some find it hurtful,
Some just can’t.
It needs emotion,
Which is something people don’t have.
Therefore always going back,
And making the joke sour.

 
What I love about it,
Is that anyone can speak it.
Sometimes not knowing it,
Sometimes knowing it.
But any language or sign
Can have this weird dialect.
And that’s how everyone around the world,
Becomes closer together.
Another thing to the list,
That everyone has in common.

 
As I say,
Some are fluent,
Some aren’t.
That’s what I appreciate,
It’s the one thing you and I have in common.

 
Stupidity is what it starts with,
As one points out the obvious.
Then the other emphasizes on that,
Pointing out the dumbness.
Anyone can laugh out loud,
Anyone can cry,
But it’s what keeps us together,

Our stupid sarcasm.

Beneath the shadow
of the Great Shepherd's staff,
in the green lushness of Life's plateau,
my spirit continues to laugh.

Despite the dumbness of this sheep
to His voice I've heeded.
For God's Love is greater than deep
and to His Principles, I've conceded.

My life is filled with abundance
beyond mortal imagination.
Enjoying protection from circumstance
came from obeying rules of His Holy Nation.

From displaying a submissive behavior
towards a God most divine,
I'm covered with blessings from my Savior
and reside in green meadows until Eternity's time.

I

The cloud my bed is tinged with blood and foam.
The vault yet blazes with the sun
Writhing above the West, brave hippodrome
Whose gladiators shock and shun
As the blue night devours them, crested comb
Of sleep's dead sea
That eats the shores of life, rings round eternity!

II

So, he is gone whose giant sword shed flame
Into my bowels; my blood's bewitched;
My brain's afloat with ecstasy of shame.
That tearing pain is gone, enriched
By his life-spasm; but he being gone, the same
Myself is gone
****** by the dragon down below death's horizon.

III
I woke from this. I lay upon the lawn;
They had thrown roses on the moss
With all their thorns; we came there at the dawn,
My lord and I; God sailed across
The sky in's galleon of amber, drawn
By singing winds
While we wove garlands of the flowers of our minds.

IV

All day my lover deigned to ****** me,
Linking his kisses in a chain
About my neck; demon-embroidery!
Bruises like far-ff mountains stain
The valley of my body of ivory!
Then last came sleep.
I wake, and he is gone; what should I do but weep?

V

Nay, for I wept enough --- more sacred tears! ---
When first he pinned me, gripped
My flesh, and as a stallion that rears,
Sprang, hero-thewed and satyr-lipped;
Crushed, as a grape between his teeth, my fears;
****** out my life
And stamped me with the shame, the monstrous word of
wife.

VI

I will not weep; nay, I will follow him
Perchance he is not far,
Bathing his limbs in some delicious dim
Depth, where the evening star
May kiss his mouth, or by the black sky's rim
He makes his prayer
To the great serpent that is coiled in rapture there.

VII

I rose to seek him. First my footsteps faint
Pressed the starred moss; but soon
I wandered, like some sweet sequestered saint,
Into the wood, my mind. The moon
Was staggered by the trees; with fierce constraint
Hardly one ray
Pierced to the ragged earth about their roots that lay.

VIII

I wandered, crying on my Lord. I wandered
Eagerly seeking everywhere.
The stories of life that on my lips he squandered
Grew into shrill cries of despair,
Until the dryads frightened and dumfoundered
Fled into space ---
Like to a demon-king's was grown my maiden face!

XI

At last I came unto the well, my soul
In that still glass, I saw no sign
Of him, and yet --- what visions there uproll
To cloud that mirror-soul of mine?
Above my head there screams a flying scroll
Whose word burnt through
My being as when stars drop in black disastrous dew.

X

For in that scroll was written how the globe
Of space became; of how the light
Broke in that space and wrapped it in a robe
Of glory; of how One most white
Withdrew that Whole, and hid it in the lobe
Of his right Ear,
So that the Universe one dewdrop did appear.

IX

Yea! and the end revealed a word, a spell,
An incantation, a device
Whereby the Eye of the Most Terrible
Wakes from its wilderness of ice
To flame, whereby the very core of hell
Bursts from its rind,
Sweeping the world away into the blank of mind.

XII

So then I saw my fault; I plunged within
The well, and brake the images
That I had made, as I must make - Men spin
The webs that snare them - while the knee
Bend to the tyrant God - or unto Sin
The lecher sunder!
Ah! came that undulant light from over or from under?

XIII

It matters not. Come, change! come, Woe! Come, mask!
Drive Light, Life, Love into the deep!
In vain we labour at the loathsome task
Not knowing if we wake or sleep;
But in the end we lift the plumed casque
Of the dead warrior;
Find no chaste corpse therein, but a soft-smiling *****.

XIV

Then I returned into myself, and took
All in my arms, God's universe:
Crushed its black juice out, while His anger shook
His dumbness pregnant with a curse.
I made me ink, and in a little book
I wrote one word
That God himself, the adder of Thought, had never heard.

XV

It detonated. Nature, God, mankind
Like sulphur, nitre, charcoal, once
Blended, in one annihilation blind
Were rent into a myriad of suns.
Yea! all the mighty fabric of a Mind
Stood in the abyss,
Belching a Law for "That" more awful than for "This."

XVI

Vain was the toil. So then I left the wood
And came unto the still black sea,
That oily monster of beatitude!
('Hath "Thee" for "Me," and "Me" for "Thee!")
There as I stood, a mask of solitude
Hiding a face
Wried as a satyr's, rolled that ocean into space.

XVII

Then did I build an altar on the shore
Of oyster-shells, and ringed it round
With star-fish. Thither a green flame I bore
Of phosphor foam, and strewed the ground
With dew-drops, children of my wand, whose core
Was trembling steel
Electric that made spin the universal Wheel.

XVIII

With that a goat came running from the cave
That lurked below the tall white cliff.
Thy name! cried I. The answer that gave
Was but one tempest-whisper - "If!"
Ah, then! his tongue to his black palate clave;
For on soul's curtain
Is written this one certainty that naught is certain!

XIX

So then I caught that goat up in a kiss.
And cried Io Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan!
Then all this body's wealth of ambergris,
(Narcissus-scented flesh of man!)
I burnt before him in the sacrifice;
For he was sure -
Being the Doubt of Things, the one thing to endure!

**

Wherefore, when madness took him at the end,
He, doubt-goat, slew the goat of doubt;
And that which inward did for ever tend
Came at the last to have come out;
And I who had the World and God to friend
Found all three foes!
Drowned in that sea of changes, vacancies, and woes!

XXI

Yet all that Sea was swallowed up therein;
So they were not, and it was not.
As who should sweat his soul out through the skin
And find (sad fool!) he had begot
All that without him that he had left in,
And in himself
All he had taken out thereof, a mocking elf!

XXII

But now that all was gone, great Pan appeared.
Him then I strove to woo, to win,
Kissing his curled lips, playing with his beard,
Setting his brain a-shake, a-spin,
By that strong wand, and muttering of the weird
That only I
Knew of all souls alive or dead beneath the sky.

XXIII

So still I conquered, and the vision passed.
Yet still was beaten, for I knew
Myself was He, Himself, the first and last;
And as an unicorn drinks dew
From under oak-leaves, so my strength was cast
Into the mire;
For all I did was dream, and all I dreamt desire.

XXIV

More; in this journey I had clean forgotten
The quest, my lover. But the tomb
Of all these thoughts, the rancid and the rotten,
Proved in the end to be my womb
Wherein my Lord and lover had begotten
A little child
To drive me, laughing lion, into the wanton wild!

XXV

This child hath not one hair upon his head,
But he hath wings instead of ears.
No eyes hath he, but all his light is shed
Within him on the ordered sphere
Of nature that he hideth; and in stead
Of mouth he hath
One minute point of jet; silence, the lightning path!

XXVI

Also his nostrils are shut up; for he
Hath not the need of any breath;
Nor can the curtain of eternity
Cover that head with life or death.
So all his body, a slim almond-tree,
Knoweth no bough
Nor branch nor twig nor bud, from never until now.

XXVII

This thought I bred within my bowels, I am.
I am in him, as he in me;
And like a satyr ravishing a lamb
So either seems, or as the sea
Swallows the whale that swallows it, the ram
Beats its own head
Upon the city walls, that fall as it falls dead.

XXVIII

Come, let me back unto the lilied lawn!
Pile me the roses and the thorns,
Upon this bed from which he hath withdrawn!
He may return. A million morns
May follow that first dire daemonic dawn
When he did split
My spirit with his lightnings and enveloped it!

XXIX

So I am stretched out naked to the knife,
My whole soul twitching with the stress
Of the expected yet surprising strife,
A martyrdom of blessedness.
Though Death came, I could kiss him into life;
Though Life came, I
Could kiss him into death, and yet nor live nor die!

***

Yet I that am the babe, the sire, the dam,
Am also none of these at all;
For now that cosmic chaos of I AM
Bursts like a bubble. Mystical
The night comes down, a soaring wedge of flame
Woven therein
To be a sign to them who yet have never been.

XXXI

The universe I measured with my rod.
The blacks were balanced with the whites;
Satan dropped down even as up soared God;
****** prayed and danced with anchorites.
So in my book the even matched the odd:
No word I wrote
Therein, but sealed it with the signet of the goat.

XXXII

This also I seal up. Read thou herein
Whose eyes are blind! Thou may'st behold
Within the wheel (that always seems to spin
All ways) a point of static gold.
Then may'st thou out therewith, and fit it in
That extreme sphere
Whose boundless farness makes it infinitely near.

To be awake,
to be blind,
I’ve never understood the difference.

On a parkbench,
on a streetcorner,
silent, idle, waiting

for sadness, or the lack of it,
waiting
for the excess of it;

to be awake, to not know
is there a difference?
In the water,
submerged
floating, sinking, drowning

in sadness, or the lack of it,
smothered
by the excess of it;

When I awake, I am blind,
When I awake, I do not know,
When I wait for the bus,
on the street corner,
I am blind.
When I am sinking, baptized, or drowning,
I am dumb.

I am always
drowning in sadness, or the absence of it.
I am always
drowning in sadness, or the excess of it.
I am always floating
in the not knowing,
always smothered
by the dumbness of it all.

Do you feel the same? Choked to death
by melancholy?
Does some thick smoke cloud up
your lungs?
Is it the melancholy? Is it the
sadness?

So tired
Back to work and then there's this social event and that social event
and the last one is the best one and I'm still trying to get over not having
last years job that was taken from me and given to you and still
trying not to even think about this because this is a whole new year and

Driving past Napa Valley's Wineries
Hotels, Buses, wine
Everything wine and I don't know where I'm going
My GPS broke, and the directions are drive straight and you'll see it

Suburbia has turned into true wealth
I've gone back in time, wine Haciendas on hill tops
like feudal mansions, waiting for the peasants to do the actual
work of wine, the dirt and the sweat of wine as the owners
twiddle their thumbs and worry about the stock market and their wine

I arrive at my Castle.  For a few moments I will be allowed to taste
the lifestyle of the wine and pretend that I too belong in this castle
watching grapes ripen and waiting for the teaming hordes to do my work
and the mechanical wine processors sit idly waiting for the grapes and I feel a tinge of
sadness and fear for the grapes to be processed like in a slaughter house
until I realize they are only fruit, and not mammals

And on the hot deck overlooking the beautiful, silent valley with grapes ripening before
our eyes the only chair left is next to you

I sit down and look to my right and I see the woman who I feared would take my job and now did
and I wonder how it is that this has happened that I've driven for miles in the hot sun
through miles of grapevines only to be made to sit next to you who jealously drooled over
my job and could never say anything good about my work and then you won.

And we talk and I'm very clever and you don't like that because I'm supposed to be stupid
and it's supposed to be obvious why you got the job not me and not some seniority thing
and you say nothing nice, and it's only me keeping up a charade of conversation that
could turn ugly at the drop of a pin but doesn't due to my skill
and you then leave made uncomfortable by the evidence of my continued existence
and lack of dumbness

And it's only later that I realize in my imagination I wanted to hurl you from the deck
and into the wine press

Let us Rise and Rejoice for the Wise Controllers of the Streets
Please give praise for the Keepers of Asinine Righteousness
Who have the power to read our minds easy as giving sweets
Esteemed Professors who are  World Experts with Greatness
In Neuro-linguistic programming and know all the upbeats

For example anybody with working eyes can see with no cheats
The woman's complexions is not Black even without clearness
Alas I make a joke and  lightheartedly say its Black in mirths
Nobel NLP Programmers jump in glee and frenzied eagerness
That is Trigger to void progressive actions with that lady petite

So Professors et vacuous masses devoid of brains go on heats
Sprinkling Blacks all over in project as useless as their dumbness
Tell not dorks I do not see her as black in any way but a tease
Another deluded wasted efforts from the addicted mindlesses
The poor lass graced with honey-gold skin tone is not for meets

Crass semi-illiterates play mind games on levels of bog peats
Psychotic obsessed nonentities with deluded tendentiousness
As if there's a meeting of minds with piffling anodyne greats
Dumbos declaring we are playing with your mind in earness
Show me how a genius compares with Quixotic foolishness

You write 3 words and use symbols but is it a poem?
You write babble using borrowed lines from nursery rhymes?
Is that a poem?
Definition of a poem.
"a piece of writing nearly always rhythmical, usually metaphorical,
and often exhibits such formal elements as meter, rhyme,
and stanzas for structure."
New but most of what's on here sure as heck not poetry.

There’s a cloak I keep around
A fine, invisible one
One cannot feel its texture,
Or play with it for fun.
I can’t hear its many sounds
And neither can I see
The object of my leisure
A worker’s company.

How do I know it exists?
Perhaps I fool my brain
It’s a phantom wisp of air
That somehow hides my pain
That helps calm when one persists
In hurting what’s inside
The worn bubble worse for wear
When all weak tears are dried.

When internal demons wake
The cloth begins to fray
When the heart is torn apart
The stitches do not stay
The joints start to tear and break
Grow weak with weeping thread,
The engine now cannot start
One that was always dead.

Through the holes they find the *****
Some fellows in my land
Working their way through the fold
Turning stone to mere sand.
Why do they not stop to think
‘What is this good fabric?
Looking so when once so bold
Despicable magic!’

Therein lies the bitter truth
The folly of our time
They cannot see the poor cloak
As it is in this rhyme!
Only the wearer can sleuth
Which holes made when, are where
Through dumbness, anger it soaks
Each cruel word, each harsh stare.

Pull it closer, guard within
The fragile soul and smile
Hide well, know with clarity
That it is worth your while
Each mistake you call a sin
Throw it outside the cloth
With faithful integrity
Forgiven, not forgot.

Then build inside nerves of steel
Strength of iron so great
In the kiln of your own brick
Control what you create
Take the helm, but do not seal
The course of actions done
Know the plan, but do not trick
Make hay under the sun.

Make points clear, do not mask
With some thoughts said aloud
Keep a hat large for your head
I mean- do not be proud.
Perform with love each tough task
In your own, unique way
Care and earn, and share your bread
With every passing day.

Mend the cloak as you move on
With the good gift of life
Show it off well when you can
Fighting undeserved strife.
You don’t know why you were born
You do not have to wait
The brave roar of a lion sang
From stories of your fate.

How could Jesus be  a white man
How could Jesus be a black man
How could Jesus be a white man
How could Jesus be a black man

This idea hit me like lighting
We are made in Gods likeness
So it don't matter if Christ had black or white skin
Because he died for our sins
And your like I can't believe in him
Because of the pain within
Pain from racism
The ignorance of the founders who didn't establish this
Do you know the region
Listen children listen men
This faith was birthed before Americans
Before Christopher Columbus
But to the truth there's numbness
You can research there's no comfort in dumbness
I am not a Israelite
But I am a gentile covered in the blood of Christ
When men lead power gets abused
The truth gets misused
Distorted into obsession
Distorted into aggression
Against its twin its kin
Esau and Jacob
Flesh is just our parents genetic makeup
Hitting you with living water like wake up
Christ exchanged his self for us like Nicholas Cage face off
See Christ blood all red cut race off
Do you know your geography
Is your belief based on your own philosophy
Don't promise me
Promise he
God deserves an apology
We done let the color of skin become our idolatry
The black Israelites
Yeah right
Sound like the Aryan nation won't get into heaven unless your white
I mean black yeah black God is black
Clearly your spiritual growth shows lack
Think about when them whips hit his back
Shredded his flesh like cheddar
We deserve hell forever

How could Jesus be  a white man
How could Jesus be black man
How could Jesus be a white man
How could Jesus be a black man




Blood runs red lighter than black darker than white
Christ willfully died didn't put up a fight
So why we fight for identity
When we should have identity in he
Not  black or white supremacy
Ku Klux **** ram sack your land
Set fire to the cross
Black man lost in a rebel mindset rage against his white boss
Yet both claim Christ stripes
Like they could afford the cost
Have you ever been hit with a whip
Not any but one with lead tips
Crackle of flesh being ripped
Blood is what fell it was not the color of skin that dripped
Race hate  which decays the moral fabric
To our core we are savages full of madness
Well consider this poetic justice no Janet
I am here to let y'all have it
John 14:6 Christ is the way the truth and the life.
It does not say the way for the black or the white
He came to save every pigmentation
We are the Body of Christ the wrist and shoulder cannot be in segregation
Look at the churches present day situation
I am white where is the Christian Rock
I am black man play some gospel
I am like man where is the Bible
How is this foolishness possible
The Holy Spirit guides us into true education
Life and death the only true separation
Jesus is a white man, Jesus is a black man , Jesus is every man because he took it all to cover our lack man

"Zara, have you ever felt tired?"

My heart clenches and I jokingly respond

"Of my 'dumbness' yeah"

"lol but no"

typing...

I know that isn't what you mean.
Don't take this the wrong way, but
I've gathered enough information about you secondhandedly.
I'm quite aware of your state of mind, and you are not okay.
Still, I am taken off guard that you're exposing this to me.
Because you've never shown me your weaknesses.
So much so that I seem to have forgotten what I heard.
But you tell me nothing, giving me no more to ponder.
The conversation swings, but I still feel uneasy,
I've gone through this before. This is only beginning stage.
You're carefully introducing me to your horrors.
The third conversation of it's kind for me.
The third conversation to leave me speechless.

How do you comfort a depressed person?
My Google history shows only this question.

The process is the same each time,
First page, second page, third page.
I've been scrolling blindly through, searchingly, Desperately, Till my sympathy feels shrunken.
Because there are only so many times that I can say, "I'm sorry,"
For a situation I only wished to control.
Sincerely, I empathize with you.
'It will get better one day'
I've typed in the letters to this five word sentence
Five times this morning. 'Keep your chin up.'
My fingers are not lying, but they don't feel authentic.
Not when my eyes are sore from staring at Google's homepage. 'You'll make it through this.'
I've varied in saying this ten times this week.

Please someone tell me,

How do you comfort a depressed person?
My Google history shows only this question

I check daily for new suggestions,
Refresh, refresh, nothing, refresh again.
Because there are only so many times
that those crafted words could hold meaning.
I utter them again, *'It will get better one day.'
Making it six times for the morning.
And I hope it will, I'm not saying this weightlessly.
Even though researched, these are my only responses
to your cry for help.
Because when you show me signs if indirect defeat,
And the Googled suggestions stand still, I become silent.
I have nothing to say, clueless as to what to do.
So I end up muttering meaningless sentences
That I know cause neither harm nor good.
Short senseless sentences that I can only hope will distract you, Confuse you till I collect my gathered sources of ease.

How do you comfort a depressed person?
My Google history shows only this question

Because I become muted without it. My words choke me.
I'm worried that I would cause your fragile wings
To wither even further. Like I have to the others,
Who settled on my fingers before you.
I'm sorry that I haven't got much to offer you,
But I'm used to making everything into a joke, laughing foolishly.
I do this to comfort myself. However most times,
I'm caught holding my hands together, whispering
To my lord, pleading in his divine perfect presence
But,
How do you comfort a depressed person,
When they don't believe in God?
Still I pray, and jokingly ask that his science
Brings him relief.

But you, you pray with me, and I'm unaware of methods To comfort you that you haven't already failed at.
I have so many strung up words that are familiar to you,
But I can't speak them, you've told me nothing yet.
I myself can relate, but Google is opened up again.
I have no first hand knowledge of your mental strength.
You laugh as I do,

"I'll message you later love. My parents are fighting"

A piece of you unfolds and reveals itself  to me boldly.
I don't know what to say.

"I'm running away"

But unlike with me, To you, your issues aren't funny.

My Googled message doesn't reach you.
"Keep your chin up," I said at your little revelation
Because it's easier for me than organizing the words in my chest.
"His mother is abusive."
"His father is absent."
"He stays in school so late because he doesn't want to go home."
"He lived on the street for some time."

Jokingly you'd say that your eating a tomato a day, kept the doctor away,
But the humour doesn't reach your eyes, it never does.
However, you leave it at that. You only reveal to me so much. I know it's coming, so I prepare myself,
Once again refresh.

Please someone tell me,

How do you comfort a depressed person,
When Google's suggestions are no longer working?

"Zara have you ever felt tired?"

"Of what?"

**"living"

the fungus are among us
among us, and abundance of humongous fungus
the substance spun us into funnel monkey dumbness
no longer numbness we felt the suns bliss
sun kissed wondrous fun.
feeling the youngest we dismissed all toughness
no longer rambunctious
we had won us a moral compass
complete sublime oneness
glad we had done this
we yelled cowabungas

Wutsa matter wit you?
Whirr you frumm?
You from summ furren country?
Cain’t you tawk better den at?
Murruhkunz doan tawk Inglush lie cat.
We talk good Inglush. We tawk da bess Inglush.
Ain’t nobody tawk better den us.
Irregardless of whut kine uh furriner you are
You could not tawk so ignernt.
It’s a insult tah good Murrukuhns tawkin lie cat.
You should be imburrst to tawk ataway in public.
Should be ashaymt uh yerself.

Yenno, peepo c’n perject thur ignernce
’N thur lack intelluhgunce so easy.
They jess open up thur mouths
’N let the dumbness fall out
’N thur it is, fer alll to see.
Yude thank they’d realize what dumshits they are
’N not let thur mouths write checks
Thur butts cain’t cover.
But, no. They’s flappin’ thur yaps an babblin’
‘Bout nothin’ at all, ’n actin’ the pure fool
Lack thur mamas din teach them nuthin.
Well, nuthin’ good, at lease.
Me, muhseff, I thank sumbuddy
Shoulda kicked thur butts
From here ta Sundee.

But, thass jess me.
I know thurs a buncha bleedin’ heart libralls out thur
That wanna let peepo get by with crap jess ‘cause
Sumbuddy is a Niger er ‘cause they’s Messcun
Er sum kinda ******* heathen er ‘sump’n,
But I thank thass jess wrong.
Peepo gotta talk good jess to respeck the flag
’N God n’ country. Or go home.
Yeah, go on back to whatever Godless place
You ’n your race ’n yer ideas is okay.
We rilly doan need ‘em here.
We’s good, God fearing’ peepo and hard working too.
So, if that ain’t you, *** on yer camel ’n ride
Back tah whurever you cumm frumm
Till you c’n tawk good Iinglush lack decent fokes.

When the rose buds have bloomed
vigorous dreams have flooded the heart glee
dumbness has flashed on the pensive mood -
quaking mind has grown
into the nucleus of dragging love
ocean of emotions have catalyzed the ***** close
deep aches have popped at the heart and stone
when render has conceived
the glimmer chords have become splashed
utmost has inflamed and grown to outburst,
bursts into the fire of gaiety -
psyche has poured the fathomless passion till death
###
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

Betrayal
Has come
Hidden
But visible
Left to be found
Surprising
Yet not

Sharp
Like a dagger
A piercing
Of safety
Dull
Like concussion
A kick
In the heart

Damaged
Are children
Broken
Is Trust
Weakened
Are families
Branches
Are Cut

Betrayal
Of hearts
Assumes
Dumbness
Of victims
A slur
On humanity
Driven
By
Self

Betrayal
Of union
Years of great effort
Crumble
Like sandcastles
Under your feet

Betrayal
Great robber
Of my human
Dignity
Futures are frozen
Our cords
Are cut

Betrayal
Most human
Act
Of cowardice
Unspoken
Discovered
We meet
To part

Ditty dum, ditty doo,
Dozens of dollars disappeared,
Foolishly spent on that dame,
I would have done a dime for,
Had her dumbness died down.

Not a lick of lint in my pocket,
I reflect on our dances in the dark,
Daringly caressing her body to mine,
All of those dimes been daunted,
By my need to woo and wow her.

She had darted the way of the dime,
Out of sight, out of mind, out of spirit,
In the poverty of love and coinage,
I wallow in my woes,
As if I didn’t do this deed to myself,
Doomed from the depths of doting,
Like a ******* dodo.

They say chivalry is dead,
Yet is there nobility in poverty,
When the honest man’s motivation,
Vanishes in the night,
Into some other scrub’s arms?

A dime, a dame,
They’re all the same,
Coming and going,
The flow of cash,
The passing of lovers,
Only to learn,
That life’s one true currency,
Is the endurance of obstacles,
And we all end up bankrupt in the finale.

One very sunny day,
I went outside to play with friends,
Playing games with no ends,
We ran down roads with bends skipping,
Each one of us tripping,
Falling and a-slipping with joy,
Coming up with a ploy,
To catch that dreadful boy with glee,
Prank him like he did me,
"Lets tie him to a tree," Fran said,
"We'll leave him there in dread!"
How punishing for Fred, how bad,
That would not leave me glad!
"That would make me quite sad," I frowned,
"But we cannot back down!"
Then we all looked around for plans
"Lets tie his shoes to cans!"
"He'll make so much noise, and he'll blush"
Said Verutica Klush.
"We'll do that, we must rush to him,"
That plan is not to grim,
So we sent Mary Kim for shoes,
And Patrishia for glues,
Starting to work in crews as fair,
All got in on the dare,
To join cans he will wear to boots
Hearing many hollers and hoots,
At his door we placed boots with cans,
He wasn't fooled by our plans,
You just must understand one thing
And oh, the dumbness stings
We didn't hide the strings to the cans

The words I cannot grasp,
whole dreamscapes painted within me.
Oh, the grand copyist he just might be able,
so much better able,
scrawling pictures of your calls fervently.
Recording hue and thought,
and those oceanic depths,
doing what I can only wish for, pray for.
Yet, I do hear.
I do hear it, hear you
Your words, those words,
and of that I am so certain.
So sure of those words, deep and hazy
and so warm, oh so warm.
The sound, the tremulous tone, makes one drunk
so ruined to hear it even only in dream,
even only in furtive whispers.
Ebrietas you are, Daughter of the Cosmos,
bringer of enlightenment through dumbness.

At this hour of solitude,
Don't be mistaken
I am burning alone,
When the tail is hopped off
Both groan in the grass,
I am penning
these verses to you,
For I want to know
You are, like always,
On the platform
To catch me,
Or like never before,
Have already boarded.
Whatever is with you,
Or going to happen,
I am waiting
To watch the episode
In which
You are hitting the floor,
Holding his alluring arms,
Or drinking a glass
At the counter
Looking to the door.
As you know
My dumbness
Is not numbness,
Or may be
The vice versa
Is within you,
And if you desire
Like a mother
To see her missing son
Or daughter
After a long summer,
Run and do the same,
For I am sure
You can't live
Without me
As my love as true
As waves to sea.

Today was a dark day
I am hollow as always
(Except when I'm bursting at the seams)
It seems...
That we always come back to this space
This empty mindspace
Sorrow and numbness
Fueling my dumbness
What if brain cells died every time I cried
I would be doomed
So we enter the gloom
Today was a dark day
And tomorrow will burn my eyes
Light and love will be found all around me
Fueling the fire
I already have everything I desire
So today was a dark day
But tomorrow will be sunshine and daisies
I always hated daises
But I soak up the sunshine like a cat curling up in its warmth
You bring on the cold
But I'm here to weather the storm
I will always return to the sun
I will always come back to the moon
I'm a sword sheathed in darkness
But I'm getting ready to glint and shine
Happiness will be yours and mine

Upon a crest of ruby flames,
  Was writ a list of seven names:
Of gods and goddesses untold
  Whose quiet tenets never sold.

Mavis was the nymph of pallor,
  Patron saint of putrid squalor.
Watching, with a tender eye,
  The lives of those resigned to die.

Beatrice, with hair of scarlet,
  Took the throne of seething harlot.
Harbinger of crippling sadness;
  Queen of darkness, death, and madness.

Paul, whose eyes had never wept,
  Ensured that secrets would be kept.
Cursed with blindness, deafness, dumbness,
  A walking vault of tortured numbness.

Talim broke her mother's heart,
  And many others from the start.
She, the deity of glee,
  Knew ignorance and apathy.

Alastair, the golden thief,
  Toed the boundaries of grief,
He sang to people with his flute
  That there was more to life than loot.

Tess won't look you in the eyes;
  Mistress of the compromise;
Smiling, even as she hums,
  That "maybe next time" never comes.

Alex comes to break the silence,
  God of wishes, drugs, and violence.
Crashing through with mighty clamour;
  Hope the nail, and he the hammer.

Of all the deities we cherish,
  Even those whose memories perish,
None are sad as those who don't
  Beget belief. Or can't. Or won't.

And on a crest of ruby flames,
  Another list of seven names,
Whose carvings have been long forgot,
  Will sit amidst our trash and rot.

Deaf to nature's harmony creates a deviation

not meant as God's creation.

The unnatural bent is towards

false pleasures;

fools can reflect at their leisure.

Climb an ascent and see fire in the sky

is perfect harmony as it zig zags by

but the old male beast sees only youth

when all is worn; dumbness or delusion,

it remains illusion.

Life in a greater sense is harmony not madness,

performed not by chance but in nature's fullness.

I have these voices in my head
And they are constantly
At war with me
And my self esteem
These voices are sadistic
They are cruel
They constantly warp reality

I try to fight these words
Every day of my life
It's so tiring
And to be honest,
Some days I don't fight at all
I welcome the dark thoughts
Invite them over for tea
Let them completely dissolve my insides
We laugh sometimes
The voices and I.
But usually we cry
Together

To me,
Love is the way
You always manage
To silence the voices.
Just your smile
Ignites my soul
To me,
Love is the way
You make my eyes shine.
Love is the way
I could just hold your hand
For all eternity

Love is how you've turned
All of my numbness
Into pure dumbness
Love is for fools
And sinners.

*I will go to the grave
With your name on my breath.

Thy Love is pure from Thee,
no lies, nor fears
no pain, nor tears
for His Light is the reason I can see,
for Thee is my Savior, my Shepherd.

The Love is pure from Thee,
no boundaries, nor walls
no changes, nor faults
for He showed me the Right Path to take,
for Thee is Everything in Everyday.

Thy Love is pure from Thee
no numbness, nor dumbness
no loneliness, nor sickness
for He had forgiven all my wrongs,
for Thee's Heart is what I can call my Home.

Thee loves us unconditionally.
God Bless.

Reacting to the new dangerous trend of taking the ****** off in an until then consensual ****** act.


Dear America,

I strolled down your famous Sunset Avenue
Tasted the marine-inspired SF clam chowder
I had dreams about a Hollywood Undead venue
I had in mind Madonna, Monroe and their powder…

Dear America,

You gave me Ginsberg, Baldwin and Brooks
You gave me Hawthorne, Poe and Hemingway
You gave me strength and glory along the way
You gave me all my poems found in these books.

Dear America,

Today I want to tell you about stealthing
No I’m not talking about your crusade and sword
I want to tell you about a new trend and word
Consisting of taking your ****** off in the act

Dear America.

Irving told me he saw a desperate mother– it made me cringe
At the hospital, watch her son slowly pass and leave her
In his arm they gave him an against whatever AIDS shot syringe
This mother planted the needle in her arm.

Dear America,

The gay community was stigmatized because of barebacking
Horses of desire that they decided to tame
And you tell me your youths are, as we are speaking
Making love risking their lives, and no one is to blame?

Trumpets of shame I hear, crumbling the walls of reason
This brand new world to our bodies is nothing but treason
What is that? Is stealthing ****, America? I don’t know, say,
What was your reaction when they took your freedom away?

Dear America,

To the insolence of the 1970s youth, the recklessness
This generation responds with an air of stupidity
Go waste yourselves on the altars of dumbness
We won’t move a finger, to again witness this madness?

April 28, 2017
Lyon, France

noone has eyes left in this room. i mustve walked in through the wall. tiptoed around the piled-up death, im *****, and marched my smile right into the madness. ill **** any corpse clever enough to not be a corpse...but any corpse will do... with that glazed look from your face filled with dumbness, i wonder what it is youre imagining; to deduce, one must wonder: did ye hast eyes from the birthening??..... cold grey child, id have gone wild on your skin. but now, with fear etched in your brow, youre stretched too thin for it to be sin. with my hooves and my claws i applaud your rotting body torn and clawed. i tare your form from form. and from existence; the never born. enjoying the rhythm of clacking teeth to the tone of your lungs collapsing. im dancing and laughing. prancing and clapping like the little dead girl that im wearing, every stitch is miss-matching.. and yes, your being im crushing, and youre no audience, but still, im blushing; i look smashing. not much of a musician, but ill try to make nice sounds. tips and taps and hums and dee-dee-dee's. clicks and clacks from my tongue.HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! AAAAHHHHHHHH... its so FRIGHTENING!!!! ISNT IT?!! and you like it. it excites you.. it makes nice sounds. so much so your orgasming or convulsing. and your eyes would be rolling in the back of your head if you didnt have gaping holes there instead. that i **** and i fill as your soul escapes and spills out onto the floor; like a snake to its skin: you poor thing, youve shed. the puddle of you left mumbles some useless question with your definite last breath: why? - HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! WHY??! ..for i am the cataract in satans left eye while i swiftly sew his right eye shut. to see nothing but the haze of souls to fry every time he decides to look up.... and thus you bubble some sputter and spew with your mouth gaping wide as my tongue laps your hyde. HHHHHH... i steal that last breath from you from inside of your chest as i give you your death. fear freedom you spawnless *****. as i drop a very large stone onto your chest cavity. i give you your death but in death, again and again... you look ravishing. i am the Maddening.

As the time went on,as the hours pass
I could remember the happenings in our class
The quarrels,the screams,
The joy and the sadness
The crying of officers
and the advice from the teachers
I remember all of our illusions
Our problems and the solutions
But as it runs in my memory,
It makes me so lonely,
Coz' it will just stay forever in my brain,
That brings me of such pain,
I want to cry out loud,
I want to cry hard
But what can it do?
It can't bring back the days i'm with with you,
But the class already end,
That brings me far from my bestfriend
I don't wanna make a farewell nor say goodbye,
Because it will just make me lonely and cry,
It will just make me forget all -
All the memories that I stole
It will just erase the days where together
The happy days we made with each other
The happiness, the loneliness
The greatness and the dumbness,
All of that ,
Will be here forever in my heart,
And I hope that all of you,
Will not forget me too,
Coz' i won't do that- never
You'll be inside my heart forever!

Joy as a weapon, Jah's joy's d' strangth
goodness known, damnation o'd'lie
what a concept,

in times of social turmoil
when no one is sure what's right,
and every two or three agree to fix it,

the we way, way we agree to do, and do,
or die by our own will, pop like a bubble,
mythic warrior cult trope from TV
projected to the spiritual warrior cattle
praying, Jesus, guide me, I believe,
it is the unbelieving part that's
givin' folks cognitive dis-son-dence
dense-thick wall of farfarfar out tide

- serious OD on Campbell hero story maps to DID re activation in the novel event
Now, some team of writers has writ
a Jesus Freak Super Hero,
called Utopia,
with serious Freudian Daddy *****-ity
and I am hoping
this is 2021 camp, OP Art
like wham bam
thank you mam, Batman,
circa 1961, I think, lets check, Holy
ROM AI KNOW 1966, January 12, POW
times they keep achangin'

From then you see,
this is my future you are re
balancing re
ality in mere ifity, and yes

yes we cleared the code, the Utopia virus.

Note: the dumbness in the now sense,
stupid and dumb are identical one thing.
Kant's pure is this realm's mere, Voltaire agrees.

We had this assignment in the novel.
And you, the poet in tune with the zeit
via Netflix, see
called us to witness the premier, and
some piles are seen from here as bullshat,
can everybody see that?

Truth can take a punch, by faith.
Semper Fi, tuff little devil dog

impossible in the frame of categorical
imperatives, and no
in this flow, I ai give you google agency,
fact check yo'own self.