"humanitarians" poems
See the emblem waving
Proudly, touted in the sky.
We walk among our brethren.
We recourse, resource the reason why.
All, in trepidation...
We cry out for separation.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -
But, not for all?
Citizens of the nation,
Before humanitarians,
First comes clicks of locking doors.
Equality does not endure.
A man of any land should be my brother.
The whole earth, to us, our mother.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -
But, not for all?
See the burden being carried
High upon laden backs,
Tautly stretched, with shoulders bending.
Each fear the other will attack.
The words have been the same,
But for intent that's not their own.
For too long, have we been believed.
Equality is just for some -
Is just for some.
Freedom is only for the free.
The lines that keep the captives buckling,
The doors that keep them let them go.
They have no where to escape.
Always there is tyranny
For the landless refugee.
He is no man as worthy as you.
Equality is just for some -
Is just for some.
All the lessons that teach us to love
The home of brave and free
Are based on notions that could not be true,
If all are not the same as you.
And, are they not the same as we,
Who are decorating for our holidays.
Living in our plentitude,
Singing songs of charity and caring -
Charity and Caring?
Gifts are given and received.
Do we remember the lessons taught
About the kind of men we are,
When another is in need?
Do they not rate the same concern
As the presents and the tree,
As we pray in Holy Spirit,
Singing songs of charity and caring -
Charity and caring?
See the emblem waving
Proudly, touted in the sky.
We walk among our brethren.
We recourse, resource the reason why.
All, in trepidation...
We cry out for separation.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -
But, not for all?
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
Scientists made a lofty discovery
The universe continually expands and contracts
In the exact same manner absolutely
So we ultimately live the same lives for all eternity
So we devised a way to send a message to the next universe
A message that would stay in place
Even without the existence of space
A message that would survive time
Even through the end of our line
The message conveyed:
Don't make our mistakes
Correct our sins
Our universe ended
The new one began
The first humans mindlessly worshipped the message
Hearts of the willing sacrificed
They killed for control of its mystic power
It belonged to whoever owned the ivory tower
Until religions were developed
Although they were all somewhat derived from the message
People began to see the message itself as a pagan hieroglyph
An incoherent interference
They killed all that worshipped it
Senseless slaughter
Things got hotter
When people were finally intelligent enough to understand it
They saw all the things we did wrong
And how to avoid those mistakes
But the things we did that were wrong
Seemed much more convenient and easier
They used the weapons we told them not to make
And the ideas we told them to steer clear of
Swords became guns
Racism became genocide
Love became hate
More direct ways of imposing their vision onto the world
Foregoing empathy and compromise
They submitted to the fascism of their subjectivity
And were plunged into the Dark Ages
Steel ***** and chains
Followed by bullet rain
Humanity was lost and found
Humanitarians gagged and bound
People had to make mistakes for themselves
Until they decided to stop living in hell
Humanity collectively decided to follow the message righteously
After they saw hope for the future
Through the vision our message provided
And they realized they should write a message of their own
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
The making of every man begins before the union of the cell of his mother with that of his father; one thing leading to another
This always lies on strings of varied decisions which needs to meet in one way or the other for destiny to balance on in order to get to her creating destination
Before mine, some ***** went down the drain with some pain; a sign of womanhood and fertility
Before mine, some sea of men only flowed in and out because there was none in the house to recieve any of those cells to grow and make it out alive
So they returned a waste
At all those times when pulses elevated beyond normal and hormones of the souls which brought about my existence went busily crisscrossing each other to get the job done,
Those fallen ones were expendable decoys sacrificed to achieve emotional satisfaction
It was so, many times but my time was not cos destiny had it all planned and that plan got my batch to come at the right time
Scientists say it's the fittest and quickest that makes it out as another human but my case was so different
On that day
In the council of those brothers and sisters
The floor was given to each of us to make a case on the reason to be the one to go out in flesh
We all had the opportunity and everyone made a case
Each one of them presented intellectually satisfying arguments backed by illustrations that made decision making a difficult one
Finally the platform was given me and the room was so quiet you could hear the even the humans outside at the time
"I don't have a thing I can say I'm going out there to do in particular", I said
"I'm representing you all"
"The educators, I will be there for you
The health enthusiasts ,your job will be done
The other humanitarians, am going out for you"
"The intellectuals, trust me
The musicians, your songs would be heard
The artists, I will be there to uncover your insights
The spiritual ones, the work is going to be done
The poet's your works will definitely see the light of the days
The athletes and sports personalities, I will put in my best to represent you"
After everything, the applause said it all and the rest is history
Therefore when the going gets tough and giving up seem the easiest option, I remember I'm not here for myself
I'm a representative of a batch of brothers and sisters who never made it out alive
Though scientists say it was a race, mine wasn't
I didn't race, I was chosen
Mar 29, 2023
Mar 29, 2023 at 7:07 AM UTC
In the morning, I awoke
to the smell of burning rubber--the bats in paradox
with their champagne necks broken,
telling stories from atop
the blisters on the celestial skin.
A sublime masochism with irises that devour events, and ribs of sunshine,
and this was the gong of the eleventh hour somewhere after four a.m.
when the mockingbirds lie bodies in strange angles,
under tracks and atop cars.
Garage underdogs howl at the fog
after self-inflicted shotgun wounds lying in the corner
of the greats things lost and the worst things gained
the bleach corrodes the bombarded sidewalk
that you almost hear smoldering, whimpering on the empathetic verge
of the ocean
where mini-stars explode, civilization ribbons coat the throats
of you pedestrians, humanitarians
all dressed and gifted
to the ****** of equivalence,'
and I am tooth drunk
on the placebo slide, carnations washed beneath the broom
clinging to morsels that ***** blue sky down on the trumpeters.
On the fall of the eleventh hour---Carpe Diem crushed by sweaty palms into ***** work
and screaming
dance parties.
How low?
He, they,
it, I, she
throw lives away like ships
slicing through the ocean, the same reckless, but disciplined authority.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
sun and shower
threats of power
gifts of rain
we never complained
sand and paper
tears and make-up
iambic pentameter
we danced naked
in your lightning
all night and day
threats of defiance
never compliance
furniture is our alliance
to refute this reliance
so just sit comfy
and don’t move a muscle
for once you are
installed in your chair
you are aready
halfway there
to becoming a hostage
fights are plenty
but some are so empty
that its tempting to cheer
when you stamp your feet
on the ground so heavily
i will take that pounding lightly
because deep in my heart
i am a humanitarian
and polite as a gentleman
who's dialect is friendly
with a diet so deadly sweet
that its been considered
absolutely as healthy - as eating
your own two hands or feet
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
*Republicans hate
Gun down humanitarians
Bleeding heart liberals*
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
One day I realised that time did not exist in the way I had imagined it to do,
And on another I discovered that we are just bags of water and bones and brain,
We slosh around, and we stumble through, and we stink, and we think.
Blind hatred is the complacent replacement for clean rational thought.
Blind love is the complacent dream for billions of lonely human beings.
We burn, and we bury, and we buy, and we break, and we violate,
And there are great humanitarians, but they are ultimately alone, as we all live and die.
One day I realised that the sun is the only thing that matters.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
The roaring engines of soaring planes resonates through every alley way, street, and through every crack in the concrete.
The rainy opaque and gray clouds pour a feel of solemnity upon a sleepy city.
The melancholy beauty of my rainy day.
The gentle pitter patter of the drizzling rain caresses my face as i slow my pace to embrace the sound amongst the rain.
The brisk breeze that chills to a temperature ranging amongst the 50's travels through my slightly drenched hoody.
A damp feeling spreads through my body.
The clopping and the squelching noise of busy feet walking and stomping through wet sidewalks.
The chatter of pedestrians.
The complaining religious humanitarians.
To all of that....
I Listen......
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
Black bones. The pages twist. Oxygen runs down the furrows, split the spines. It hurts to look at. White phosphor. Teeth breaking.
I reached my hand in once. Jar of words. Symbols running like a river into the sea. They lose all meaning. Skin wet with breath.
Morning cold or an empty grip. Doesn’t matter.
They used to dance. Shadows running into the heart. Veins tangled. Feet kicking dust.
I’ve been trying to get the words out for awhile now. It hurts the more I try.
Backwards or forwards. Everyone smiles, but the gap grows and grows. We’re progressing, they say; heads rotting hollow. I try to fish them out, but pierce their flesh.
It’s dead now, so they leave.
I used to stare at the stars until they’d burned into my dreams. Ouroboros shaped like a maw. Infinity.
Progress. Human beings. Fingers, throats, airways. Seams of tissue, fibrous joints. I’m sick of humanitarians. Conscious flesh rising into godhood, breaching sanity. Hubris. Stupid words, talking themselves out of existence. Circles in circles. Black crows pecking at mirrors until they break. The animal runs its legs to the ground. Biology. Cells. DNA synthesis. Ligase, unwinding. Atomic emptiness. Split the human. Hiroshima. The enlightenment, a success. Clink of glassware. The president eats burnt flesh.
But none of that matters.
I press the ash between my tips. It feels like fur, collapsing skies. A junction that once was, and now will never be. There is time here. A broken, sad thing. Prisoner of its own flesh, sand in glass. I am lost in this moment. I am disappearing. Breaking like light through a prism.
Why do we even try?
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
Neuro analytics. /
*** is aesthetics?
The world is pathetic/
How much of my time have you taken? /
The wolf has no need to read BACON/ Deeper then his will can take him. /
These low frequencies hurt mother gaia dirt layers of stratigraphy, the isotopes of the bones explains the old clones. A zone with no sentimental tune.
No concern to mention a common slur /get trapped in the blur peripheral glimpse I can see your curse it gets worst/
Adversus /My optimism among nurses (humanitarians)
Commercial quotes created by other commerical quotes I laugh at their notes/
Locked inside a flock/ Lost outside the clock/ **** a pattern and a pen /They are stagnant again/ Repeating other's common sense worth about 10 cents a minute in debt with their whole lives left/
My ultra violent ray.
My aura displayed.
Turning you crazy lost in a cave.
This poetry as a painting
far from lazy.
As the writing speaks to me
.
.
"I'm glad you made me."
.
.
I reply **** YOU PAY ME.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
Whoever brought war to this world
Must have been an evil devil
See, fertile fields idle
Greenness they cradle
But inside them life crumbles
Lives many lives inside their bellies
They cruelly cuddles
What a human’s riddle
When masses in concentrated camps retires
As slowly they falls and expires
A heap of thin eaten bones
Humans as zombies-hell rotten clones
Just stashed skinny skeletons
Returns to humanitarians huts heartbroken
To wait to be just shrines
Of the fatal or battle famines
Fields sleeps still untilled
Occupied only by healthy bushes and shrubs
Humanity die unfilled
Fast of unsanitary outbreaks and scab-scrubs
Land lay undisturbed
Weeds wishing for someone them to pick
Humans perish perturbed
Of traumas, stigmas-too weak and so sick
Of hunger and starvation
Of thirst and malnutrition
Of deaths and devastations
Of infections and infestations
Of war-executions and explosions
Humans die of war-poverty and slavery-suppressions
Whoever brought war
To this well world’s wall
Must have been a devil for all
Can you look at them?
Once or if twice grace you've
Do you see little children?
If still they merit-forbidden!
Withered, shriveled like leaves in dry droughts
Just leanly stretched skins of skeletons
It tries to cry, a hiss like a yawn comes out
A malnourished mass-flame of fragile bones-
A stillborn foetus silently hibernating-mercifully striving living
Patched head becoming deserted and barren
Shrunken skull, inwardly bony discoloured eyes
Bony mandibles, jutting chops-sharp clavicles
Increasingly round tummy above thinly matchsticks of legs
A child hanging on a shrunken shred
Of its slim dermis and her was tissues of coveted *******
And we say she is breastfeeding
Fingers bony like satan's claws, feeble and brittle
On her thin slowly leaving heaving chest
Enjoying mother's nourishing milk
An image, an illusion of her and it sufficiently suckling
Who brought war, war to this side of the world-Africa, Africa!?
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 3:00 AM UTC
There's half a bottle of wine the fridge
and a lifetime of worry in my bones.
I'm being dramatic, maybe, surely
when there's all those kids
starving over there in Africa.
My sister studied great whites there
without a college degree.
What did I want when I was eighteen?
We are all so sure, aren't we.
I lost my motivation
as easily as a senile old man loses his shoe.
It is there, somewhere, I know it.
And the longer I look
the more frantic I become.
And there are days when not caring
seems okay.
They shouldn't tell us
we can all become doctors
and home owners, actors,
professional chefs, humanitarians.
I wished for something I didn't know
I didn't want.
And what do I wish for now
but a happiness that exists
at the end of a dog's leash.
Is mindfulness or oblivion a better choice?
The answer is not at the bottom of a bottle
but in this case
it is only half full
so what is the harm.
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC