"hunted" poems
Our hearts and souls were so blessed to fast Ramadan sincerely
To be enlightened by its super mercy and extreme prosperity
purity abiding around my heart, kindling my every part
a gift from Allah came along to bless our hearts
to spread peace and love, to dig faith in each part
A blessed bounty to wipe away our tears
to zest our souls and vanish our fears
to sparkle with faith with our keenest beliefs
and twinkle light in our bright smiles
oh dear eid, you can't help it but sowing seeds of joy,
Capturing joy and happiness in every single countenance ,
of a child's enthusiastic joy kindling a thriving inner radiance
joining hearts and souls with the deepest crystals of love
revealing such a fancy artistic touch of a peaceful dove
feeling the gratitude for Allah's super merciful blessings
praying to pluck the roses of peace each single moment
pounding hearts of affliction and yearning
missing your everlasting passion getting sick of poisoning
yearning for their peaceful deliverance
to catch glimpses of happiness
that once has been hunted by a sudden death of a loving part of soul
until Allah will send a cheerful hope,
just be patience to get over all the mope
smile and share the joy of eid and love ,
work even harder to cherish the heaven above ....
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
**** the twin-size mattress,
that cheap indigo color.
Where my best friend’s legs,
her hands and knees,
were entangled in struggle.
**** his barbell body
heavy and cold to the touch.
She had been hunted
by someone that she trusted.
**** the world that assumed
she was kissed. Not gripped,
nor crushed under his pressing force.
**** the cinder block walls
of that college dormitory,
where she stared and refused
to sleep in her own bed
After that night.
**** the catchy tune of breath
rolling over teeth
that play in her head.
**** her father. He would say
he doesn’t approve of her *******
So, she chose to stay quiet.
Forgettably quiet.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC
In history class, we learned about witches.
About them being hunted down.
We were told this was all a misconception.
That true witches were never to be found.
But I know the real truth,
The one everyone says is wrong.
That while witches may be fake,
The witch hunts are still going strong.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
huh, what time is it?
phone slips back into pocket
huh, what time is it?
a bear with regret
making its bold confessions
from behind a meme
life in the future:
computer in my glasses
yet still no jetpacks
ancestors hunted
only ate what they could ****
now we have WalMart
flowers were once wild
bananas used to have seeds
- how we shape the world
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
The Alpha will call, the omega will join,
Together as one, they sing a song,
All now hunted, because of one fateful calling,
Haunting, yet beautiful, they'll ravage,
They'll break, they'll snap and growl,
Stopping for yet no one,
No one but the Alpha Wolf.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
120 seconds.
2 minutes.
That is all it took to change my life,
to shatter my heart,
to take my childhood.
Locked between four walls,
stuffed between forgotten papers and books,
I was made prey for my once trusted predator.
Now I understand that I have never stepped outside of those walls.
Those walls have taken refuge around my heart,
and surrounded my mind.
They have preserved the initial scars,
and have supported the hatred, sadness, and pity for the hunter and hunted.
These walls have held me up until now.
Life without them seems intangible,
treacherous.
They protect me from another life-changing two minutes,
but they also shield me from the light.
I want that light.
I want that freedom.
I want to live.
Every nail that I remove leaves a scar,
every board I break off makes me vulnerable,
but I think it is time.
My heart needs room to grow,
and my mind needs to learn to trust,
to trust that life is worth living,
to trust that life can be kind,
to trust that I am worth it.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
Thirty days have passed by,
purity abiding around my heart
Our souls were so blessed
to fast Ramadan deeply sincere
To be enlightened by its vast mercy
and the extreme prosperity
a gift from Allah came along to bless our hearts
to spread peace and love, to dig faith in each part
A blessed bounty to wipe away our tears
to rest our souls and vanish our fears
to sparkle with faith with our ambitious beliefs
and twinkle light in our bright smiles
I can't explain the sadness,
that all of it is already gone
Yet I am unable to express,
all the happiness that came along
Oh dear Eid,
you can't help it but sowing seeds of joy,
All the little children jumping out of ecstasy,
or something more
We gather all of us in a room,
cheering everything we have got
the child's enthusiasm kindling a thriving inner radiance
joining hearts with the profound crystals of love
feeling the gratitude for Allah's merciful blessings
pounding hearts of affliction and yearning
attempting to catch glimpses of happiness
that once has been hunted by a sudden death
of a loving dear soul
I have two sides today,
in my spirit is something wrong
but it's real, and I can't hide it
and let the feeling in my heart just lay
A beaming smile, so doleful eyes
As I said I have got two sides
And still can not decide.
This great festival meant a lot,
now it is just a reminder,
to all the years that have flown
celebrating a day without her.
It is just a replay,
to the digging nostalgia in my core,
until Allah will send a cheerful hope,
just be patience to get over all the mope
work even harder to cherish the heaven above.
Yet you see,
this movie will come again, the next year
and the melancholia, tingled with nostalgia
might keep you deaf and blind
along your long road.
Remember that Allah's door of repenting is always wide open
Waiting for your heart to get back and mind be awaken...
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
In my mind, I raced against time
I smoked peyote with the Apache
I chased Kangaroos
Through the bush with the Aborigine
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I outpaced time
I drew cave art with the Neanderthal
I climbed to the top of the mountain with the Sherpa
I hunted seal out on the frozen tundra with the Inuit
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I eclipsed time
I wrote poetry while under the tutelage of Langston Hughes
And I created visual greatness while apprentice to Gordon Parks
I even stood on the wall with Che' Guevara, like a Sentry standing watch
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I turned to face time
I wrote an addendum to the Emancipation Proclamation
And I saw the ugly truths
Of freedom's farcical Declaration
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I embraced time
I sought to free my nation from the pandemic perils of *******
And I prayed that we Americans would be free of
The snares of racial and economic divide that still has us chained
I did this while searching for truth, in this, our most tenuous hour
...then empyreally, God reached for me, touching me, and I finally found my power
* Reprinted from 'Exegesis a Decade of Poetry by Mekael'
© July 14, 2009 by Mekael Shane
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
We are all unique in many ways that all of us can see
But some people are too peculiar, people like you and me
We aren't like the others, we're peculiar beings of this place
We're born with individual talents that no one can erase...
My friends, we each have something special, but something to hide
The world isn't ready for the abilities we all keep inside
We are being hunted, a fate we peculiars must face
Run quickly to safety into the arms of a ymbryne's embrace
As you read this message, know that a hollow lurks near
But remember your gift, you have nothing to fear
Tread carefully and find us at the loops in any direction
On the other side of our haven you will find Peculiar protection.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
PART II: A GLASS CEILING DRIPPING WITH BLOOD
Mohanad Younis, of Gaza City;
Where the sand is stained with blood
As the world feigns pity.
Broken families, unspoken tragedies –
The order of everyday life.
He was born amidst chaos and strife,
To a divorcing husband and wife.
If life were lived in peace,
This dissolution would’ve been a release.
Not much more, not much less –
A family’s lore, a decision to digress.
In war-ravaged land, however,
One needs every helping hand,
Especially a soul that was so clever.
Such a curious, voracious mind needed to understand;
A furious, rapacious search,
Unexplained conundrums to unravel and unwind.
Why do we exist?
Why do we fight and resist?
Is it worth living with all these scars on my wrists?
Does anybody outside Palestine care?
Will they keep on watching?
Or will they be unable to bear?
Of this and much more Mohanad must’ve thought,
As he sat at the Marna House Hotel,
Smoking cigarettes, freshly bought.
A student at al-Azhar, a mild-mannered pharmacist,
A prudent man who would have gotten far.
An admirer of Bassel al-Araj, another victim of oppression –
An inspirer, a brother who alleviated his depression.
Hunted down and killed by the IDF,
Another pacifist murdered for being an activist.
One figure of many who died;
One of those who did not want to hide.
Mohanad wasn’t a resistance fighter –
He felt that such persistence did not make their burdens lighter.
Instead, he wished to make his mind brighter,
And perhaps have family of his own.
He was in love, and wanted to get married,
But life was rough, and warranted a future far more harried.
The final twist of horror?
Having the intellect to apply for University,
And deserving the respect needed to obtain a reply,
Yet not being allowed to leave the city.
That is the news Mohanad had received,
Hopes and dreams suddenly deceived.
Denied a right to education
Because he was born on the wrong end of a cruel fabrication.
The glass ceiling, dripping with blood,
Swallowed his hopes whole like a flood.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
Only Love
It began as a love story
Crazy days with you
Crazy days of faith, love, passion
We grew so close so fast
You said we were soul mates for life
I lost my world to you
I trusted you with my deepest thoughts
Most intimate moments
My future
Our future
Bonded with Artfetch
The future of art
We would make it together
A global player
Unwavering faith
In the chorus of warnings
I battled your place with me
Bold and revolutionary
No one would take this away from us
But then you did
You took it away
Without a word
You left me in a haze
Took my breath away
Your force so strong
Chaos controlled my mind
The lie so real
My passion abused
Reckless abandonment
My faith, my love, my passion
You did not face me
You left me with nothing
My life shattered
I wonder through my Art
Profoundly
A part of my life
For the delights and hopes of life
Seeing in them memories of intimate times
Calming my fears
My sadness
Evoking as only art can do
The spirit in me to live again
I no longer care
Why
I got lost in your deceit
In your ****** up mind
Why
You hunted me down
And played me as a game
Why
You abused my passion
My life
You crushed my soul,
I sit at my desk and find my dignity
My strength
I look around and see what I nearly lost
Artfetch the mystery of my life without which
I could not carry on
No more Crazy Days living your lie
A resounding realisation
No soul in you
I continue
To live my dream
So as I sum this up
Go listen to our song
Remember in your heart
I gave you my heart and soul, my mind and body
My life
I believed in you
I am wishing for you to stay strong
Wish upon every star you see
And if its meant to be it will come true…
No more Crazy Days with You
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
#shameless
They ruined my honour under their feet,
They hunted a girl passing through that street
Empty roads remind me the day I was all alone on that rainy day .
Walking through the wet road
I got the signature of "shameless" on my notebook.
When I found a foetus inside me
I was a hot topic in the society
I find myself all alone on the road full of people
There sharp eyes sees my body figure.
I wish I had died in the hospital.
Now I am dead writing this with a great regret
It was not a suicide
I was murdered by the society not once,not twice,not thrice, a little in every bite
I just found a way I could free myself
So, I killed the foetus
Now at least the so call society would say a girl choose to die because she was *****
I know this society would not drop a tear on the name of me but the one gave me birth must be searching for me!❤❤
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 3:12 AM UTC
we are monsters
from the boutique to the
embroidered throw pillows the
pen dashed around the neck
stage 5 bone cut
sawing ossification to the
hollow core
we are monsters
hooting in tunnels lined
with bats coming out to feast
creation
to scrape the streets
shimmy the walls
bust the coffin and
succckk
we are monsters
who can't enter under the
doorframe
fearful of being burned by
the sun silver stake
rat poison holy water sickle
and windmill ash
we are monsters
sewed stapled dead meat
skin hair plugs ceramic
teeth tested and tasted by
rats
we are monsters
jumping high over white
fences frenzied explosion
running through corn
angrily bled in a field shot and
hunted like embarrassing
waterfowl in the jaws of
mammalia
we are monsters
of flaming brilliance flashing
in your inbox
read us and gnaw
braised
roasted
grilled limbs
watch
as we watch you
be scared and
stab
I promise we don't die.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
What do you want from me?
I ask my memories,
Wondering why they’ve come out to play,
Tap dancing across the wood floors of me mind,
Creating a cacophony that echoes off my skull.
What do you want from me?
I hear them when they respond, “We’re trying to make you safe.”
I know they’re attempting to prevent tumbling off the same rocks,
Trying to ensure I don’t crack bones on the same hard places.
They are telling me to avoid having pieces of me stolen again.
I couldn’t protect myself at thirteen or sixteen,
So I stumbled down the same dark alleys until I was 18
And paid a grander price in an even darker cave at 19.
I’m 22 now, and I’m still picking up the pieces out of the mouths of men,
Men who cut me down until I was a conglomerate of bite size, fuckable pieces.
I was taught not to scream when my pieces were being consumed.
Who needs to be a whole human anyway?
If tip money went into my pocket,
If he told me he loved me afterwards,
If I was alive to see the morning light,
Who was I to complain?
And when I stopped wanting to see the sun rise,
They gazed upon my pieces
And berated me for the wreckage.
What do you want from me?
Is a question I only know how to ask myself.
I have never dared ask those who stole from me
Whether they came to me in good faith,
Never had the wisdom to lock up what was valuable.
I have never demanded of anyone what their intentions were,
So I ask again: What do you want from me?
What am I expected to provide?
Am I allowed to be a whole human here?
Or will you require I be bite size again?
I am desperate to be safe in the same flesh that once enticed those who hunted me.
What do you want from me?
I’ll tell you what I want.
I want to go home whole,
Knowing my skin is all mine.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 12:50 PM UTC
They set off from white rocks,
red geraniums, blue tile,
and let the green sea
lift and drop their ships far above the white foam waves.
The stony islands that were home
were swallowed in minutes by the hungry Atlantic
but they hunted the big fish,
the giant whales with human eyes
who rolled and sang and swam
in oceans a continent away.
They came from Sao Jorge, Sao Miguel
Faial, Pico, Terceira, Horta -
Nine island emeralds set in a black volcanic chain,
neither of the old country nor the new:
Halfway there and halfway gone -
secret jewels of the Portuguese sailors.
They sailed into unknown waters,
south around tropical shores
where dragons smoked and writhed on the rocks
and birds with brilliant red and yellow plumage
rose in clouds around their heads.
Then north, and north, north again
to colder waters
where sea lions barked and lunged
at the strange massive wooden beast
that coursed the waters,
strung with brown bodies swaying
on the lines and cursing the sails.
North still they swept
casting contemptuous eyes on
the cheap turquoise waters and monstrous slow turtles
of the Sea of Cortez.
Coming up from the desert, past the palms and the yucca,
the Joshua tree and Spanish daggers,
they chased their smooth grey prey,
riding the vast Pacific on their wooden island,
herding the leviathans onto their spears,
adventurers with an audience of only
gulls and sky and seal.
Until they sailed too close one day
to a rock-strewn shoreline
and saw the golden hills.
Gnarled oaks like grandmothers from home
with orange poppy jewels at their feet,
missions strung like beads in a ruby marked rosary.
The boats slowed, ****** in by a Scylla of soil
rich and brown and loamy
waiting to be seeded with grapes and apricots
peaches, avocados, lettuce, alfalfa,
fertile and heavy with sweet promise.
And the whales sang and the lions barked and the gulls cried
but the sailors were entranced, encharmed, ensorcelled.
The treacherous sea, the mysterious deep, the stony jewels of home,
called and wept
and waited in vain for the sailors
- beached and grounded -
cutting not waves but earth,
tracking seasons not whales,
seduced by dirt.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
We rode our horses cross-country,
Through the nations of the unknown,
We survived the snowy mountains,
And lived off the land and the trees,
Through hot summers and cold winters,
Through deserts storms; we circled the trails,
We learned from the birds and the bees,
We hunted the elk, the deer and the buffalo,
We fished to feed the travelling spirit,
We turned acorns into flour,
We set our senses free.
$
Europeans brought Soldiers, missionaries, smallpox, the common cold, scalping, reservations, whisky and the rush for gold.
You brought land grabbers, oil barons, fencing, bricks, barbed wire and all the accoutrements of your civilised culture!
You made this country your own; and forced it's 1st nation people into a 3rd world culture.
You ***** the land of its resources, filled it with waste.
You wasted the water to make coke, burgers,
and fantasy towns.
To reign supreme in a new-world without shame!
Savages!
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:38 PM UTC
So I’m marrying this young girl, see,
it’s the second time round.
My first wife died and
I’ve been struggling and drowning.
So I'm clutching the life raft
of this girl who is beautiful and young,
who’s romantic and sure of her ground,
and she and her family believe
that I can breathe and survive again.
Me? Can I remember how to be gentle and kind to them?
It was luck. I was lucky before.
Because now I'm a veteran of the thousand campaigns
and I’ve bayed at the moon, see,
then I hunted with The Beast.
And anyway, my first wife and I
********* her name is Lorayne!)
suffered, and then suffocated
before our love soared so high.
Then we danced like fireflies, fabulously,
until the future ended forever.
So how can this new girl
find ecstasy with me and, and,
you know, live happily ever after,
which is such an impossible dream,
and how can I handle all this ******* purity
and innocence and beauty and youth
and flawless skin and fairy tale stuff
when I’m so gnarled
and twisted and knotted?
You see, I'm actually deeply ashamed.
In spite of my much vaunted campaigns,
I'm really a coward.
I'm afraid I can't drag myself back and do this again.
Can we possibly become fireflies and dance in the flame?
Yes, yes, I know.
We'll swear to love and to honor and to obey
in sickness and in health
in richness and in poorness
until death do us part.
Though this formula's too cute. It doesn't mention the pain.
But there's no other option. I must try to rise up again,
and alright, once more, I'll call on the flame.
So I'll cast out my demons and force them away.
Somehow, I'll hold those monsters at bay to give you
the light and the love you say
is still there, everywhere.
You are wide-eyed and oh, so naive.
But I desperately want to believe you.
I need you.
Oh god, I hope we can love without fear.
Mike T Minehan
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
Last night I dreamt I cohabitated with
Two beasts, both loved.
The one, a young lioness
The other a spry lamb
I had raised the both from infancy
But the lioness, who was then entering her adulthood began to size up the lamb.
And it occurred to me that in order to
save
the lamb from the lioness
That I must **** and eat it myself
It is the inescapable nature of a lion to
Hunt and ****
livestock
So while there was no scruple or problem for me to have these two animals,
They could not abide one another.
So I did it.
I slaughtered the lamb and cut it's flank and got at its tender meat
And I cooked it and served it with Marsala sauce and that night the lioness and I dined on the flesh of our old friend.
And I became aware eventually,
Between my ravenous gnawings at the meat
That the lioness was not eating.
She was
Staring fixedly
Directly at me.
She did not blink.
And I stopped feasting on the lamb.
And as I did I saw her eyes dilate
And she pounced across the table
And she gored me with her great claws
And split my gut and spilled my innards
And she ate me bit by bit still screaming
Still covered in Marsala sauce.
Before it was over I had but a breath in me and I cried,
"But why?!"
And I realized that it is the inescapable nature of the lion
To hunt and to ****
Not just livestock, not just lambs.
She had hunted and killed us both.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
****** Mother Nature
As rain forests dwindle,
and skyscrapers grow,
we leave those who co habit
with nowhere to go...
Sweet indigenious song birds,
all turned off one by one
as we bulldoze the trees
where they once raised their young...
Stealing land from these creatures
in each and every direction
as we drive them all closer
to their own mass extinction...
there'll be uproar of course
when the last one is gone,
but this course of destruction
seems to just carry on...
In Asia the Tiger's
now on it's last legs,
hunted down for it's fur
and it's teeth ground to dregs,
The Bali and Caspian
are both sadly gone,
a mere five thousand Bengals
till they too follow on...
Just five hundred Sumatrans,
a last thirty Chinese,
then this beautiful Feline
will just cease to be...
There'll be uproar of course
when the last one is gone,
but our blood thirsty onslaught
will just carry on
Amur Leopards in Russia,
Jaguars in Brazil,
being wiped from the Earth
as we **** and we ****
Silvery Gibbons in Java,
Hynobius in Japan,
on and on goes the culling
of one and all except Man...
Polluting the rivers,
over fishing the seas,
as we spread and infest,
like a fatal disease,
yeah there's uproar of course
at this ill being done,
dusty crocodile tears
as we still carry on...
For an epitaph we'll have
as our only distinction,
that we were the cause
of Earths sixth mass extinction,
not a meteor smashing
from high outer space,
just a cancerous growth
called the inHuman race...
That we ravaged the planet
and drank it's well dry,
how we ripped out the goodness
and left it to die,
how there'd been a huge uproar
as they fell one by one,
how we ***** Mother Nature...
how
we
just
carried
on...
©HaroldRizla
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC
Sitting past the reeds
upon a willow tree
the kingfisher surveys
his watery larder
With keen polaroid eyes
a victim he spies
and measuring distance
he makes his next move
A flicker in thought
his blue metallic wings
now do go into action
such a beautiful thing
Down from the branches
wings folded back
he darts into the stream
by the banks waters edge
The minnow that was hunting
has now become the hunted
and out of crystal waters
the kingfisher is victorious
Out of the stream
with feathers to preen
after a hearty fill
of minnow and bream
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
I’ve hunted in packs with numbers odd
They paired themselves while I just nod
My track is a trail without traces behind
My target ‘s a prey deemed unworthy to find
It’s all the same across the multitude
I can’t escape this solitude
If I could choose, should I rewind?
Or wait for our fate to intertwine
I hunt in a pack with numbers odd
No one could pair, none would add
Until you came and say in kind
I’ll stay with you if you don’t mind
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
Does the wolf hunt the deer,
or does the deer offer her
body? As nourishment
If she does not run
must she die?
Her blood
stains
fur
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
I hate zombies
they are the infantile enemy
the foe against which there is
no guilt
the essential
human
questions of right of wrong
of morality
never apply to the cerebellum-craving
undead. It's us or them
hunt or be hunted
**** or be killed
they are enemies that fail to
challenge
our notions of what it is
to be us
give me a werewolf any day
or rather - any moon
the tortured lycanthrope
forces the protagonist to
choose to **** because
unlike zombies
there's always
a chance
however small
that a werewolf
can find
redemption
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
(Inspired by the song Blood Sweat & Tears by BTS)
I indulge in the sweet chocolate
That is none other than
The Devil's wings on your back
Knowing that it will poison me harshly
Please **** me softly
So that the worry
Of losing you
Is taken along with my breath
As I follow you further
I get drunk on you
Allowing your whiskey
Deep into my throat
You've stripped me of my existence
Spilling all of my blood
And pouring my sweat and tears
Into small broken mason jars
Why do I bother to run
When I can't escape this prison
Being hunted like an animal
Just to be tied up again
Promise me that
I will keep being poisoned
As long as before I go
I get one last chance
One last dance with you
Before I am
Stripped of my existence
Again.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
The nineties sold us unity:
bright sitcoms,
Benetton colors,
commercials where everyone smiled
as though inequity had been resolved.
But the decade bled on screen—
a Black man beaten on asphalt,
a truck driver dragged from his cab,
bomb dust in Oklahoma,
children hunted in a school corridor.
Unity was the costume;
violence was the stage.
Then came a Black president.
For a moment,
the story looked complete.
"Post-racial," they said,
as though history had closed.
But the mask split.
Social media tore out the gatekeepers.
The hate that had been muted
found its tongue,
found its profit,
and screamed into the feed.
Division pays.
Unity does not.
Violence is systemic,
holistic,
from home to street to state.
Silence makes it whole.
The ethic remains:
If it is wrong, you stop it.
Otherwise the cycle turns,
profitable, endless,
calling itself America.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 5:45 AM UTC