When my Juliet calls, and my soul is weary.
I briefly fold, and long to follow that path I can't attempt.
Sweet dagger, pierce my heart, and let our embrace shake the stars,
But the will to live wins over a world without a Capulet

It's the hardest decision that I'm never going to get,
because the path of least resistance is
the path I can't accept.
It's because my life is never ready.
The poison's on her lips already.
Hands are shaking, Blade is steady.
Sweet dagger, pierce my heart,
and gift to me this path of sweet regret.

      Romeo is cold and weary,
     Oblivion is singing cheery
                 Songs for
            what he longs for
             and the night;
             and the blade
              shines alight
with blood so cold and wet.

YOU NEVER WANTED TO BE A GARDENER
I can feel the weeds poking
through the mulch in my stomach.
stop plucking them out-
they just grow back louder.
yknow, for a gardener,
you spent a lot of time
in mortuaries.
I just didn't realise I had one
in my chest                                  
I didnt realise you'd notice        
didnt realise you'd try to pull
the weeds out of that too,
and plant daisies in the beds
instead.
Did you know daisies are weeds?
yknow, for a gardener,
you were never very good.
But I still let you into my house
to water my arteries.
every single time we kissed
I left with a mouth full of flowers;
you left with a mouth full of mud.
It's not your fault you couldn't
keep up with the gardening.
you tried everything to get rid
of those *******.
Didn't your mother ever tell you
not to kiss a girl who tastes like
weedkiller?
They tell me you gave up gardening -
But I know you still keep a daisy
pressed in your bible.

"Remembering the Soviet’s silent sufferings!"

Chechnya, Georgia, Crimea…… Kiev!
There they marauded cruelly combing all  
And souls they severely sought to take like hogs
Souls they fatally fought-these Dmitri dogs
In death jails-a hell more than purgatory’s punishment
They put souls to pleasurably slaughter them all
And a soul at its time they picked and hacked in elated excitement
Severely they severed them these trigger happy Zarkozsky fools

Hunger and starvation their invasion caused!
It is a saying: To suppress small states-hunger and violence cause!
And out of these societies’ desperations, demeaned humans
Will subjugate freely as miserable subjects-slaves to any rule
The soviet sacrificed us to their animosity and brutality
Our children, our parents, our experts-we all fatally fell
Of their gallous guns or cruel squads or unnatural hungers
Humans, hardworking humans became bones-NOTHING!

We did the donkeys’ hard works-indefatigably  
And they ungrateful, kingly collected our all
All our tills tires they unjustly carried away
And all was left in sustainable villages were huge hungers-
Everywhere were war casualties: tension, desperation, mass starvations-
And when angered we couldn’t bottle anymore we staged rebellions
And they cursed us with all sorts of chemicals contaminations

They combated and convicted us with any known brutal cruelties
Innocent infants they injured with their injustices-fatalities  
Little angels they hewed with brutality-others they made all sorts of slaves
They collected us, us resilient and begun murdering our mettle vitalities
Men, all able men they collected, killed and covered in mass graves
Them they carried in transport trains, some they threw away in trenches, in rivers…
Their remains they concealed to deny us a claim of their atrocities and animosities

Babies remained, crying for their dying mummies and daddies
Long after finally they have given up fighting-living
Poor innocent babies, unaware it is death……
It is not death the devil but Dmitri dogs the devils
That has fat fed on their last of defenses-able parents
Times ahead of them were tough if not toughest

The Petrovs’, the Pavlovichs’, the Mirovics,
The Lenin’s, the Stalin’s, the Sarkozsky’s.....
They are animals raised from hells horrible
There not to pamper and foster but to decimate  
Ruthless and cruel they killed without a soul-a heart  
Death is their rite, blood is their eucharist
Mass mortuaries of mutilated bodies are their sophists
Killing is their glorious celebrations-theirs sacred sacrifices

In jail, doors opened and rude were ruthless soldiers’ orders
Chains crinkled on ground as sacrifices lead to little altars
Prisoners were time to time collected and lead in cruel commanders’ commands
And from distances came echoes of targeted bingo bull’s-eye shots
A LOW ROW of shots followed by the silences of squeal of sailed souls and their guilt
If a day or a night-if any able to tell from chained scary dark chambers  
Passed and found you fit-alive, you counted yourself very, very lucky!

It was dark when we escaped from the jaws of our starving starring deaths
Out, the moon shone silvery sweet and bright on these sad ******-white snows
Its silver speckle lights letting lurid luminous sparkling glows
The snow rained with such sadness and bitterness
On our ears it whizzed with fury and ferocity
On our bare skins it bit with brutality and cruelty
On our near naked feet it froze and frosted
We endured, we had to!

Had we managed to rob death of its celebration and elation
A taste of our starved wounded bones-surviving skeletons
We had to struggle to live and hope give, we strived, we had no choice
If we were to be counted heroes of our hopeless humans
Saviours of our suppressed peoples
We had to reach a safe distance and our rural homes
To stage the war from the roots, the stems, the base!

A death in nature by nature is better than one in Dmitri dogs hands
Their deaths were inhumane, their deaths were merciless
They were mocking and shocking-laughing and loathing while killing
A mocking moustache peeking from their elongated mouths smiles
A cigar smoking from their mouth and emitting from their nostrils
A red star labeled soviet beret on their ***** irking hairy heads
They killed you slowly loving and laughing of any strength you gave to live
Until at last you are lost-in the abyss arenas of death, your are done
Such a point you give up, you can’t fight, resist anymore

They chased after us–they pursued us
They were too determined to not let any of us live
But miraculously we lived-we somehow survived
Here in this snowy arena it is a fair ground for everyone-
There is no grandmaster, it is improvisation
Survival only for the willed-fittest
Not how well you were equipped or trained
Though too skills and determination also counted

We trapped them in their own constructed coliseum
A lot of them free-froze and fell in these forgotten fields
Their bones never to reach their of-kin commemorating cemeteries
Nature is JUST! As us, theirs too had to bitterly mourn their nature lost
The never to see graves, reminders of their never returned fighting loved ones
With God’s grace on us, we cheated their beginning to tire authorities
We reached home; we reached the earth’s of our ancestors

And here we gathered to charge back-to seek backups
To restore the lost glory of our nastily punished perishing people
Some we sneaked to safety in case we all perish we have remnants
Backups to tell of us-our sorrowful story-our liberty struggles
To Kiev and its heroes; to Kiev and its strong heroines
To Kiev and its resistant living; To Kiev and its resilient
We gathered to kick back, to tell the world of the evils of the Soviet Satans
To mourn with grace our gone and done in this dehumanizing disgrace!  
O Kiev, her heartless Holodomor; O Crimea, O Georgia…..
The Satanic Soviet infiltration brought you eternal sufferings!

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

Content in a cornered part of the far reaches of France
Where the gypsies naked prance and hastily dance
Stars shine down on the groups of merry peasants
Who talk love tell and pluck soon to be dead pheasants

Here the children tell of monsters mixed to death with lore
Milk pours from every cow and food grows more and more
Rocks forget themselves underneath a bubbling river bed
No one cries for here no one is beckoned to the river of the dead

Illusions fortify their eyes and their beating red hearts
Cars are parked for the horses as their only means to start
On adventures to moon lit mortuaries candle lit dinner parties
Dancing with ghosts sporting their finest being quite flirty

I envisioned myself beneath the elm tree reading and writing
Listening to no sounds of husband and wife fighting
Some may call this place eden heaven or even impossible
But I see it as a world hopeful to soon be chronicled

ashtrays, mugs and
moments: rattle within, outside their place.
our brittle, needy bones
support head,
appetite-shorn body: Bouldering.
Walking. |Wicking. Mushing bridges
churning-over water, tide.
High-regard neighbor’s children re-
move plastic decorations while that grandpa
hangs-- alive,
stayed-- in unused gutters, -o! Wind and
snow-flaked, grassy yardstomps lead us
with body-**** coats to-
doors, somedays-ies and happenstance
below mortuaries, toe-
tags, dangling shoe-string,
draping clothes'-
line our spindly, warrowed hallways
between blankets, sweaty
feelers lie, their
harrowed, heaving trunks hold night-trees/
palms aloft and hopeful.

a glint, a chance, a something.
wicker furniture, lace.
a bed, a "yes." Please,
a you.

Giving or not giving voice to the heretical words...

Understanding that the true love is a scarification.....

For being or not being....

True love inundating the conundrum
Like that sacred river of longing,
Sometimes flowing swiftly through landscapes
Astounding the lurid heart.....

The sound of silence passing...
Passions galvanizing the wounds and painful mares for enduring...

Trying to heal the injury...

Flying gulls beneath the lower bow, touching the blue waters of the ocean.....
Waves and sad memories dancing on the golden sand....
Shying away from the horizon line....
Vessels screaming and shouting their hearts out....
Swimming across the ocean of red burning coals,
Searching for that golden threshold.....

The colors spectrum giving the necessary senses to the lights of absolution,
When their senses turn inward.....

Gazing the mountain from the windowpane...
From the indoor side of that rain-rinsed windowpane.....
Sitting on that mountain and gazing at the stars....
Birds gliding across, like rainbow rising, spreading their wings, streaming..
Those birds flying in a variety of ways, ranging from gliding to soaring to flapping....



The crystalline steeping slopes of the mountain multi faces....
Being decorated with climbing ropes, heavenly as seen from above....
And the crystalline waters, steeping cliffs, hidden lakes and lush forests...

A sign of a divine love...

Understanding that love is like the Earth and the gravity,
Inseparable.....

Groans and moans leading to mortuaries....

Life being like walking in the middle of the park,
Embracing the crouch air,
Or embracing change by resisting the defensive crouch.....
And going deep into the human system, feeling like being born again....


The smile on face painting an episode of the past,
Engraving our hearts with golden debris,
Like a golden pyramid, contracting pyramid.....
Generating our consciousness and chasing away insanity....

Sounds of silence passing...

Being like a blue ocean...

memories.
forgotten freedom.
caught insomnia
in a mausoleum,
fighting nausea.
am i doin well?
drool against my will
until the light floods in.

sunday tunnel vision.
perfect colorblind.
ill-prepared and scared.
falling way too high.
don't change the subject.
my stomachs upset.
burning lovesick.
stick together eye to eye.

stitch letters together
into dated wisdom.
winds of change approaching,
much too proud to listen.
mortgage mortuaries,
buried in my debt.
have you ever slept?
i dreamt a dream then i forgot.

The hospitals full
The ambulances all gone
My heart empty
My trust gone

The hospitals full
The ambulances all gone
The doctors and nurses maxed out
Can life still go on?

The hospitals full
The ambulances all gone
The morgues and mortuaries over-spilling
In the City of Angels and lost souls

The hospitals full
The ambulances all gone
I wear two masks, a smile and one of cloth
Life must go on

The hospitals full
The ambulances all gone
As ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three
Happy new year?

In the City of Angels and lost souls
The hospitals are full
The ambulances all gone
as we ring in a "new" year and life must go on

The hospitals remain full
The ambulances still gone
as one, two, three, four, five, six friend and family we bury
as living death still stalks on

I have often thought of myself as an angel of death.
Destruction meekly keeps step with my pacing vigil,
and blooms wherever I might rest.
In truth I blindly seek it out
Guided by a waning star,
groping in the blackness.
to find at the precipice of stumbling disaster,
An observatory,
Where a great expanse of purpose can be viewed.
A veil is lifted,
And we are swaddled and lulled into reform.

As dust mingles with contrasting shadow,
So do we mingle in an ethereal realm.
Awaiting an equinox,
Or celestial alignment,
Of the body and the soul.
Seeking a corner of the universe,
Where we might meditate on our grief.

You looked saintly,
With your head tilting downwards,
Like Madonna in Pietà.
At peace,
To greet your heavenly messengers,
Of jovial cherubs with golden horns
Swirling in their circling dance.
Trumpets lift the fluttering chorus.
As they lead you by the hand.

Your youngest son,
In a brief visit,
Sat beside you in your aphasic reverie,
As he left he said,
'Bye bye mom',
For the very last time.
Even pushing fifty,
He is still your baby boy.

The afternoon of your departure,
with your hollow vessel in it's room.
We discussed mortuaries and memorials,
And when to disrupt the family,
(In the middle of their labor day barbecues),
With the news.

While the neighbors are raffling their joys,
In their respective complexes,
This house,
At the end of the lane,
Floats disjointed from the material world,
  and the journey through the infinite vacuum,
Without tethers,
To time and space.
Is debasing to say the least.
Dissolving expectations and resolving the ego,
As we dress your body in your favorite colors.

I think I'm gonna buy myself a bomb
to destroy this blasé mirage,
with a mortuaries brush and a bullet
I'll paint myself in blood to camouflage

the scars of belief etched upon
my scowling, juvenile face
a brainwashed idiocratic believer
following the languishing entity far up in space -

conscience ridden with bruises and hickies
flesh burns, prickles and stings
I'm merely a pawn, deluded with disdain,
one of thy lord's pathetic playthings

I don't need no one, anyone,
I'm the sole writer of my fate
the world will crumble 'neath my feet
as the Angels weep at it's sorry state

I'll **** the blood from life's
bare, fresh-skinned neck
piercing jugulars, cavorting with insanity
pulling continuous jokers from within my deck

and then you know what I'll do next?
As I push myself to the crowd's fore?
I'll active the dynamite strapped to my chest
and blow my writhing guts all over the floor -

Oh

I think I'm gonna buy myself a bomb,
hide the detonator in the waistband just above my hip,
then I'm gonna board a flight to America
and pay tribute to the despotic ruler I worship.

Spring is here
This time we are witnessing
Blossoms from our windows
Shops are the same
But we are ordering online
No full parking lots
No crowded aisles
No rushing to your offices
No rushing cars on the
Three lanes of highways

Only places crowded
Are the hospitals
And the mortuaries
God has painted a very bleak
Very heart wrenching picture of planet Earth

Still, mankind is clapping
And singing, and jiving
In homes, cheering on life
‘Cause life still exists
And God is watching how
We are still keeping our lamps lighted!

Cadaver animated by Marxism
Corpse possessed by militancy
Dead body filled with resentment
Zombie legions stirred by revolution
Mortuaries quickened by Dialectical Materialism
Necropolises of confrontation
Armies of dysfunctional ignorance
Reanimated carcasses of class consciousness
Semi-informed legions of the Undead

Screaming obscenities
flatline and ice cold in
thousands of
mortuaries,

been there
done that
had the treatment
shocked back
still screaming.


It is the Thursday
the fourth day in
the week which
is the limit of my life
I am somewhere in the middle
having breakfast with my wife
and so soon
it will be Friday

I keep my eye on that day
which though near is still
quite far away

Live in hope?
we all do
don't we?

and to find a purpose,
a reason to go on
beyond the Thursday
gone.

In this awesome state
of wait and see
an occasional obscenity
slips from me

that's allowed or if not
it should be.

Apes which are monkeys which are apes trail up this tail-***** ***
till monkeyed eyes bug & boggle & apish switches toddle & toggle
& teeter unstrapped & long-poled up streams medically psychotical
that insanely strike loonies struck dumb by terminologies hysterical
from kirk yards, morgues & mortuaries sister-nun-reamed beatifical
as dated daylight dives into cystical pus clutches classed prostatical
that compel a Jesuitistical anti-pope to proffer a Marxian sabbatical
because the Pinochet-lovin'-******* was an Argentine radical

When I'm with you it's like dead people don't exist because you refuse to take me to funeral homes, crematoriums,  crematories, morgues, mortuaries & cemeteries.