"torturers" poems
Never allowed to grow
Beyond ornamental,
Small perfect leaves
On small well pruned branches;
To please the eye
Of miniature torturers.
Cramped in a micro life,
Roots restrained
Within un-natural boundaries.
The promise of a tree
Never really fulfilled,
Beyond a whisper.
Fussed over relentlessly,
Like an O.C.D.
Perfect shape and form,
Trained from natural beauty,
To sit on a shelf
Hidden from reality.
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 5:55 PM UTC
I want to shrivel like a raisin
Curl up into a ball
From your rounded little basin (of friends)
Of all the torturers, you're the most cruel
I wish to stand up to you
But my knees are to bruised
For begging for forgiveness
And my lunch money too
But I can't and I shan't
And I never shall
As I'm the weak little girl
Bullied by all
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
When
cheaters and liars
rise to the top of the polls
When genocidal speech
wanna be torturers
let their goals unfold
advocating killing relatives
Something every drug lord knows
When words don't mean anything
Images are everything
When words and images disconnect
When words don't work
It's what we call psychosis
in the psych biz
We're all thinking
That can't happen here
A cousin they call Germany
Refined
Civilized
Educated
Defined art
Music
Ethics
Found out exactly what every **** head
knows when you go too far
There's gonna be advanced window patrol
Getting out the duct tape
Wrapping up the house
Can't let any light
in or out
You may end up in leather restraints
On a plastic sheet on a metal bed
America better call the crisis hotline
Stand in line for same day services
5150/Legal 2000/72 hour commitment
Being a danger to self and others
Rapidly becoming gravely disabled
Hold on, I'll write that Hold now
Bring out the atypicals
Risperdal Zyprexa Serequil
Take an Ativan
Take a Zanax
**** it take a ******
If you don't come back down now
Find the ground
You'll be okay
In a decade or three
The suffering of course
Will be burns in the third degree
Psychosis can be unkind
All civilizations have their day
Incline
Recline
Decline
It can't happen here?
Chaotic brutality knocking on the door
You gotta know what's in store
We need an intervention
Breathe it back on in
It can still be okay
Reality check
Words sometimes mean something
And people sometimes mean what they say
And though
Images dissolve
Evolve
Fracture and split
Those that are seeing and hearing
What's going on
are holding their breath
Wondering how crazy it's really all gonna get.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
Flames Of Time Start To Burn,
Through The Days,
Through The Hours,
Throughout The Minutes,
Until It Boils Down To That Very Second,
That Second Where You Have To,
Fight For Your Well Being,
Tell The Truth,
The Whole Truth,
And Nothing But The Truth,
Let Me Take My Yesterday,
And Just Walk Away,
There Are A Million Endings Of This Story,
I Hope It Ends The Way I Wish It To End,
And Fate Goes With My Favor,
Fate Has Sided With You For To Long,
Its My Turn,
If You Say Life's Not Fair,
That's Bull,
Karma Will Get You Back,
I Just Hope,
My Torturers Will Have To Pay They're Debt,
Real Soon
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 8:12 AM UTC
PANIC ATTACKS ARE FUN!
Ayad Gharbawi
A waterless feast for the thirsty
Torturers
Struggling to restrain their base Infamy
Hungry ravenous ******* eyes
Smiling grotesquely
At their Prey
Wingless birds
The nightmare is still swirling in its
Intensity
Variations of horror
And perpetual stalking fear
Shaking eyeballs
Blurring visions
Colours far too strong
Piercing
Sweating inside
Palpitating heart
Driest mouth
Piercing
Beyond any reason
Pointlessly running
From the excessively, maniacal seething Fear
Never ending
The deformed visions deepen
Yet disconnecting themselves
From my shaking Self
Withering my ‘I’
I see a threatening ugliness staring at me
I know
I am victimized
How can I get out of this?
Filthy stench of a greasy pit!
Where are the maps?
The guidelines?
Where are the physicians?
Promoting this vicious
Civilization
That I do swear
Is even sicker than I am
For you have left us all
Stranded
Surrounded
In a surreally insane No Man’s Land
Feb 6, 2010
Feb 6, 2010 at 8:02 AM UTC
There was a boy who had to learn very young how to fend for himself
Fore his family never cared enough to remember to put food on the shelf
The streets can be harsh for one so little
But this boy learned quickly and so he gathered enough coin to purchase a fiddle
Sitting on the street corner everyday
The boy would place his coin plate and then he'd begin to play
At first the crowd was small
But soon the boys song began to lure all
The plate grew heavy with many of coin and his belly was always full
But good fortune can only last so long when you live under the Devils rule
His parents grew envious of the boys coin and fiddle so one day the boy left to go play
He returned to find his fiddle broken and pieces thrown every which way
His plate of coin was in his father's hand
He said 'boy you do not need this much coin, these riches are meant for a man'
The boy could do nothing fore he was too small
So the next day came and the people waited for the fiddles call
They began to protest when the boy did not show
Marching to the boys house refusing to go
The father came out and said there was no more fiddle
Then the boy stepped out with his chin held high trying to not look so little
The crowd began to cheer when they heard the familiar song
The boy held his mended fiddle proudly as the crowd began to sway along
Out from the crowd stepped a old woman who had sold the fiddle to the boy when she saw he was in need
Then he brought her the broken fiddle and she gave him a new one with the promise that he'd be freed
The woman stepped up and took the boys hand
She looked at the father and told him to get off her land
The old woman, not known to the boys parents, owned the town and would not tolerate this type of sin
So she had the boys admirers run them off and then she banished the boys torturers from ever returning again
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
Sometimes I've had about enough
All these ******* buttercups
Puckering up
At the first scent of gruff
It's disruptive
To my mustering
I mean
Must we
Smother trouble out of ****
Must we malfunction
Into a skit
A script
Skipp-ed
To laugh tracks
Pre-writ
Until the last laughs
Where the curtains close
To fading claps
All the cards
Are all on the floor
Little adorable torturers
Peering through the doors
Afforded by our tor-mentors
Over it
We will get
Even get on with it
Cuz all of this
This is that and that is this
Is ******* ridiculous
Is worthless
It is foulness in its stench
The bowels of our regret
Unkempt and ******
It's ******** soaked in ****
Where the credits never roll
And the patrons only stroll
On outta here for a beer
And a night on the town
And all this
Flapping of the gums
And slathering of spit
Is glossing over my ****
And it's all we will ever get
If we would just submit
Wipe the sand from our *****
And remove the ******* sticks
We might find
We have loosened up a bit
Just don't be such a little *****
And other inflammatory ****
[That's it]
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
Cigarette burns
A nearly-broken arm
Spit ***** sandpaper,
A face rubbed in the mud.
So used to all those other names
I quite forgot my own.
It was all dealt with differently back then,
Not really condemned.
I was made to feel that it was my fault
For not conforming
To social norms.
I brought it on myself.
I hid under the stairs
Tensing, sensing
Their approach
Anticipating spit, and pain,
Determined not to cry again.
They found me, of course
They always found me
I had nowhere to go.
The hiding places were easily unearthed
By jolly torturers.
Eventually, It was easier to join in
And self torment.
It took me years to ditch those angry habits
And some of them
Have never gone away.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
You see I've never been good at this whole love thing.
Not to you
Nor to me.
Love is but a torturers way of tearing you apart.
I will never say those words,
I will never feel their meanings.
I will build these walls up around my heart
In order for mw not to feel
In order for me to forget.
I'm nothing more than a failure in the love department.
I can't love my family,
I can't love my friends.
You see to me love is a shout into the black abyss...
So dark and unbecoming
Is a four letter word really worth all the pain?
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
In the far corner lay
her frumpled boots,
a monument to humanity's hidden truths.
Daily burdens of mental, physical abuse,
the toll mounting without allay
bygone fears kept at bay
years of growth wither untold
crumpled underfoot by inhuman lecherous controls.
nethered by these leathered souls.
A vice’s grip is a cowardly clasp.
winds change, fogs lifts, grief finds strength in the past,
Dismay, now the torturers sheaf.
Confidence steps forth empathized by another’s sorrow
World unites with each behold,
of leched acts that lurked in the shadows
exposed by truth in the dawn of each tomorrow.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 4:19 AM UTC
I want to be a war machine
I want to rupture spleens with a gleam from my eye
I want to spread suffering in lines waiting for lies, just in time to ignite a stupendous sight in one phone call
I want the call to arms to be in the alarms of emergency vehicles
I want the residual survivors slaughtered after given my word as to the **** of every daughter in my New America
I want to just stare at ya as you plead to be spared
Beheaded and laughed upon, kicked down the stairs
I want to judge you
Smother you in your filth
In your guilt
I want to starve your kids with empty ingredients
I want to **** on my **** and smear it in your ears while beating it
I want to stare in each and every eye, as it dies with the burning sky in its frame
I want to scream the names of the slain, from burning castle walls and call, for lost love to return in the squirm of man
I want to demand, flesh from the best of the best, in a contest against the peasants
I want to topple your towers down, in tickling sounds, from trumpets bound in space
I want to spit in your face, drown you in doubts and smack you awake
I want to decimate your graves, and from the tenth left make, toilets for my torturers, in sweltered pits of **** remains
I want the world to shake in the hunger pains, of every fat ****** with burrito stains in his lingerie
I want to serenade an angelic raid, on your made up play, of plastic soldiers eaten by animatronic vultures, as I smolder the beaten toys on the floor
And I want
Really really want
More
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
fell in love with yesterday's smile
a photo at the beach
its thousand words i wished to hear you speak
though they not went unheard
by these eager ears
and hungry eyes
i was famished by the need for you
my lonely heart throbbed an unfamiliar rhythm
a silent mating call
and i heard you then, too
mind flooded with premonition
and demolition
of heinous memories
of previous torturers
employed by heaven
to learn me something
worthy of heirloom
wisdom for my time
and for the times to come
fell in love with yesterday's smile
before our faces met
your photo at the beach
spoke to me in languages not of my mother
its words transcend the time i worship
for now what i worship is you
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
A poor roman whose blood spilled,
Far from the homeland of patrician
Is how I feel currently.
As wounded as I currently am
By the grins little devils address to me
I chant glories of my torturers as they ax me down
What are they going to do with my bones. Would they sport it as jewelry, closer to their hearts?
What are they going to do with my flesh? Have a relish on it?
What if I was destined to be a prey, not even taking a glimpse of your love by any other mean than pain...
Can I still envision it as some sort of gain, with it being the price of my very life
And so, my very dignity, or I shall say the remnants of it, are defunct along with me
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
I'm being tortured. Being pulled apart slowly, painfully, and in all of the places that make me scream the loudest.
Satan has given me my own personal demons. My torturers.
They have ripped my skull in half.
They are experimenting on different parts of my mind. Finding where it causes me to writhe in pain.
They have started to rip the skin over my chest.
They have found my heart. They are cutting it to pieces.
They have taken my lungs. They are squeezing them..making it impossible to breathe..
yet God is barely keeping me alive. Why? Why do I feel like Job? I'm not strong. I don't have the strength to keep my blood flowing.
I feel it. They are going to snap my spine in half. Soon. So very soon.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
You, sir,
I think I made the mistake of trusting you, sir.
I think sometimes they tell you people
That teenagers have nowhere to go and no one to talk to,
So when one speaks to you
You are the only one they have ever spoken to,
And they only one they will ever trust.
You, sir, are the light on the hill!
And yet I never saw a brightness die so fast.
I told you about the depression first.
Yes, I admit it, I was scared;
There had never been enough people to tell me it was okay
To be mentally ill, that it wasn't something I'd chosen,
It was a flaw of chemistry not of character.
Yet I clicked that door open for you and let you in,
That was step 1.
I didn't tell you about her next.
But to be fair, I didn't know about her, either.
I came to you about him, when I was lost.
You berated me for my trust issues;
I swallowed it and knew it and you told me to stop.
He was supposed to be the next good step.
My fault, and I know it.
Step 3 were the voices.
When I told you there were voices in my head
I tried to explain to you that I was not crazy
The chemistry between me and my brain may be bad
But it's not insanity:
Only memories, only torturers,
And I didn't need another one.
When I told you that my sexuality was not straight like a pin
But waved and diverged to both sides
That I was not a het, I was a queer
You were more kindly than the congregation
And I mistook a warning as a welcome.
I was troubled but not condemned so long as I did not "practice."
Well I did not practice for it but when I kissed her and when I kiss her
I remember your words and look into her eyes and think
That there is no practice in her or in I.
Our lips meet and I feel her warmth and her hands are on my hips
And I tell you there is no "practice"
There is no practicing for love,
Not a single rehearsal for passion and commitment.
Sirrah I would do it again and again
Like the waves I will continue to touch her shores,
No matter how many times others may pull me away.
If you meant to abandon me for me,
You should've told me sooner.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC
His teeth were ochre pebbles
From the smoking of His pipe—
He bowed down to my bleeding feet
And sang God-awful tripe
“Life is but an odyssey,
Can’t you open your eyes and see?
A lot of it is smoke and mirrors
But the rest is truly ecstasy!”
He tapped my crimson, gushing foot and got up from His knees
To sit down in His musk-rose bed where He settled His old head.
My face began to boil red until I could no longer contain my head and I burst out
at my Old Man hoping it’d make blood flood from His hands!
“Just who the **** do you think you are, God?
How can you say you see?
You know nothing of the Earth
And the nightmares that it breeds!
Did you notice Abu Ghraib,
the torturers’ many ways?
How theft is easy for gangsters
While children starve for days?
Puh!
You just sit here on your musk-rose
Cuddling its soft, fuzzy petals,
You’re nothing but a spoiled child
Who has never desired to run wild!”
And at this, Father whispered from his bed,
“Capricious, I have been
But I cannot be blamed.
People choose their lots in life
For free will is their fame.
If I gave them acres of land and
a home that doesn’t weather,
their bones would turn to tether.
You think I owe everyone the world,
And all the fruit it grows,
But the sweetest peach you reach yourself,
And this you already know.”
When my Father’s words had stopped
My eyes caught the throbbing wounds;
The skin blanketed the open flesh
And Dad said, “The infection won’t heal soon.”
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
It's ok to have the pain written on your face
It really is no disgrace
It's ok to see the sorrow in your eyes
Please my friend drop your disguise
For I know the past torturers you
And the future is hard to pursue
I know the past is the living dead
It gets up in there, and ***** with your head
It walks around in there and gobbles down
All the happiness that can be found
It feeds and it scatters
All that gray matter
A different point of view is hard to be found
When you've made the mistake of looking down
Turn your eyes to the skys
Where all the winged things fly
Trust is a must, let go of the rope
You'll learn to fly, never give up hope
A leap of faith is all it takes
To finish in this mad rat race
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
Had me a purgatory day,
yesterday,
spewed my guts under the torturers
inquirical miracle twisted
all to hell, seeking truth
that fits the story the fire maker
said I knew.
Had me a purgatory day,
yesterday,
spilled my gut on youtube comments
no mind in a state of right useness
is ever going to believe,
believing being so
difficult,
these days. Those days
Had me a purgatory day,
yesterday.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 1:04 PM UTC
TLACAELEL
The weeks since last we met found Hungry Prince
Of late locked in his tower, casting scrolls
Which chart the star-crossed charms of the occult.
And in the predawn darkness of his arts,
He broke through to a voice from the beyond
Which whispered that the throne of Mexico
Must soon come to be ruled by foreigners.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
And thus the emperor submits to trial,
And these, their wagers, are red herrings, then.
TLACAELEL
To spare us the demoralizing news.
The spirits’ hands will steer them to reveal
If this prognostication failed or not.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
The ***** in motion. Let the gods decide.
TLACAELEL
Motecuhzoma falls! The ball is down! The ball is down!
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Dust rises, and our lord is lost to view!
TLACAELEL
Three in a row! Were we left hanging, then,
For torturers to **** by small and small?
MOTECUHZOMA and HUNGRY PRINCE reappear.
MOTECUHZOMA [aside]
I’ve lost then, but the full significance
Of that word “lost” I’ve yet begun to know.
Gods need not lie, and here we have their words.
Well, let it come. [to Tlacaelel] Unseal the wagers, lord,
And read before these noble witnesses
The stakes we trusted to you at the serve.
TLACAELEL
First, the abortive fee for Hungry Prince:
King of Texcoco, had this victory
Been won by his imperial majesty,
And you had failed, your forfeiture had been . . .
[Opens the first wager.]
The loss of all your lands, your courts, your throne,
And all, for your opponent’s acquisition,
Decoronation to a common man,
And forced prostration to this gentleman.
HUNGRY PRINCE
A staggering ransom! I must thank the gods,
Not for their championing me, but truth.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
Yet another night of dismay,
Falls upon the land of the tortured
And they pray,
May this night be over
And the morning brings the light,
Not only to a world that's ending
Not only to a soul that's bending their knees
To the torturer,
The omnipotent,
The ones who called themselves God;
And torture poor souls until they're afraid,
And weakened,
Hopeless and blind
To hold the freedom of sunshine.
And now they surrendered themselves lest they should die in misery.
The weakest of them are now covered in mud,
As an example of defeat.
"You must know where you stand,
Fear my presence
Obey my commands!
'Cause I hold the power
Against all of your freedom,
Be my slave,
Dare not to withstand."
But they do.
They stand together every time,
Hoping for a day to come
Where they will grow out of this mud,
And their blood will collide into the sea,
As an example of great sacrifice.
They will bloom like the sunflower facing the sun,
"The sun is our freedom,
We might break, we might fall
Nevertheless we will ever run.
Because we believe in one true God
Who created us,
Who wants a better world
Filled with good souls,
Where peace exists
And so does redemption.
We surrendered our souls
Not to rage wars
Or to stand over the pile of dead bodies and their ashes.
We served our spirit
To create a world as pure as heaven.
Heaven exists only for them
Who serves for good,
Who loves wholeheartedly
As every human should.
Hell exists for those,
Who claims to be a saint
Yet deep inside they are
Just a soulless sinner,
Burning in their own ignited flames.
So tell me,
The great rulers of the world,
The ones who called themselves God
And promised to make a better future,
How long would you deny
The slaughtering of thousands of men, women and children
In the name of betterment?
How many lives would it cost to make a better world where peace exists?
Where happiness is not only a memory but reality.
How long would you hide under the coat of your power,
Claiming to reach heaven
When you're only one step away from hellfire?
Is this how God brings peace upon the face of the earth?
Or is this how God arises to put an end to this despairing world
To all of these miseries.
The tortured souls and the torturers,
The deceased and the despised ones,
You must know, you must prepare
Because the end is near.
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 10:23 AM UTC
i am a moth drawn to the flame of despair
flutter through the air
no care
for body
just the burning of my soul
the yearning to know
what it feels like
to throw
everything away
in hopes
that dawn is close
closer then is possible
that time flows faster
when you're giving your all
for the promise of tomorrow
where tomorrow is
worlds away
from today
and its sorrows
and that sorrow will someday
be a sweet memory to borrow
from when the joy becomes
too much to bear
i am a moth in a world aflame
it looks like hell
but apparently
hell other people
and i'm sick of feeling
sinful for feeling
the sorrow of my fellow
tortured torturers
they tell me i'm too hollow
that riding the updraft is no good
and being tossed about the firestorm
is for fools
and i'm as flighty as a feather
in weather unsuitable
to be out in
yet i'm part of this world
and to lock away my soul sounds
abominable
so a throw to the wind
to see where it goes
it might singe
but it's worth it: the sorrow
i am a moth telling myself i'm not
and blaming it on outside sources
but being honest shows
my woes are my woes
and everybody knows
their own
and i just speculate and spectate; trying to know my fellow moths
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 2:28 PM UTC
I know that it's twisted,
But, what love isn't
It steadily grows in your mind,
Vines intertwined, each branch is a vessel
To the heart of the blind,
because that's what love is.
Simple, how it complicates
When it breaks,
There's no remedy for how it aches
The mistakes, that you so awkwardly pursue,
Are the branches that lead to the, I love you
Now tell me and listen,
Let the quick sand, quicken
As you drown in the dust
Of what you cooked in the kitchen
You thought it was religion,
When you said your vows,
Like an animal you're stricken
When they, she, takes you down,
Simple, how it aggravates,
When you take,
Your last step.
Hard to believe it when you feel
A back-stab wound,
You're all consumed,
You want to crawl inside,
With the rage that love has blinded,
The truth is harder to take,
Than any magic pill you make,
Any time a simple memory,
Sneaks up to say, 'Hello!'
You're breaking every mirror
To not see your face bellow.
There you go, it's twisted,
But, what hate isn't,
With nowhere to go,
You feel like the convicted.
So you're trapped in a life,
That you don't want to be in.
You'd love to start over,
Just where to begin?
Tears are like, rain on the window of your cell
It's fine when you're here,
No one can hear you yell.
Anything, so long as you forget that smell,
The one that's so good, it's like poison in the well.
You want to drink.
God you know how much it hurts when you do.
Hey, take another sip...
It's not like the memories are through with you.
They're like the torturers
And you're a rat in their cage.
An experiment sometimes; Life.
It can go both ways.
You just never believe in bad fortune,
So why bow to the danger?
In the depth you're so hollow,
Because inside is a stranger.
There they are again,
The tears,
The fears,
The anger,
The stranger,
The hate,
The scientists.
Back again with prodding sticks.
They're in your mind,
And there, they're rooted.
You once grew love like a tree,
But, your world's upside down.
So all you have are the roots.
No... wait, they're thorns.
Like the roots...
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC
Born in religious family
You heard it right, like every good story
Turned my back onto everything that I know
To just understand the whole side of the story
Every once in a while there was a backlash and a life
Every once a while there was a genuine smile
Every once a while I saw some one succeed
I don't deserve it all, or I can't have it right
Then came all kinds of addictions
Habits like living in hell is the fiction
Then came all the bugs around the sugar
And the apple rot inside with a worm eating its tail
Then I lost the loved ones and I let go of the friends
I saw the torturers and I saw being tortured
I saw the sinful act of acting like everything's ok
Ok as you heard it right
It's a miracle to be alive at this stage
Then I found the god, the one and true only
The existence that keeps me awake, the best almighty
Taking baby steps but I am still walking
Running is not a choice, blood circulation maybe stopping
One side of my body is going lose and lose and lose
Engineered to win at a lengthy process of living the abuse
The devil on my back and the light in front
I'm not running away, I'm taking it along
Hey dear devil, can you hear the steps?
I'm pushing you to heaven, I'm pushing us all away
The funny thing is I never got scared
Like a funny game of sadomasochistic shame
The reason was easy, I trusted their eyes
They are all good people, they are just doing their jobs
I am just lost, in the never land
I'm not Peter pan, I am just a man
As you heard it right, I was born and raised
In the middle east, under Islamic Reign
I will not be lost, I will not be dead
The story never ends if it shouldn't end
Fully grown, with no hair and all beard
I am now a man, lost in time and space
Found by the god, on the corner of the house
I shall forgive them all, and I shall be forgiven
Let the story be on the good side of the hope
For god is truly, bigger than you hope
Jan 25, 2025
Jan 25, 2025 at 6:58 PM UTC
Every morning after the reveille
we hold a bicycle race
from the camp to the Meuse
At full speed I take
the last turn, right into
brand new barbed wire
invisible in the light of the sun
As proficient torturers two others
are colliding with me immediately
Flat tire, torn clothes
In a comic strip, I would now
be hanging horizontally
But I fall, rips in my flesh
gaping and bleeding
Bandages at breakfast
and then I lead my patrol again, what else
after the mysterious providence
of a farmer who's going to pasture on the river?
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:00 AM UTC
Raise our God consciousness
Raise our “Allah is greater than.” “Allah is more important than.” “Allah is more significant.”
Raise our minds
Raise our confidence
Raise our love for the oppressed
Raise our voices
Raise our hands
Raise our prayers
Raise our grassroots efforts…talking to ordinary people
Raise our signs
Raise our slogans
Raise our bravery
Raise our solidarity
Raise our red, black, white, and green
Raise our love and our cries for our human brothers and sisters
Raise our commitment to the martyrs
Raise our commitment to the grieving families
Raise the greed out of them
Raise the racist out of them
Raise the arrogance out of them
Raise the Netanyahu caricature devil looking ears out of them
Raise the butchers out of them
Raise the terrorists out of them
Raise the grotesque torturers out of them
Raise the chumps out of them
Raise the monsters out of them
Raise the two-facedness out of them
Raise the facade out of them
Raise the raids out of them
Raise the bomb strikes out of them
Raise the nuclear weapons out of them
Raise the baby, children, women, and men murderers out of them
Raise the assassinators of grandmothers, grandfathers, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, wives, husbands, and more out of them
RAISE THE VICTIMIZED, TYRANNIZED, HEGEMONIZED, BROWBEATEN, DOWNTRODDEN, MASSACRED, WE WILL NOT GIVE UP, PALESTINIANS’ FREEDOM OUT OF THEM
by: Najwa Kareem
Nov 7, 2023
Nov 7, 2023 at 5:20 PM UTC