Cruel potentates

establish 'peace', simply by --


creating wastelands.

a couple of words to convey ta
scurvy dictators
being, with their regimes, dirt on the face of
civilization; lyrics that may be referred to as hate speech
sorry, sans names since
you, hinderlings, tend to get sore 'kin/sim. to nates
of someone earned a good lacing (butthurt)
fO̲r misbehaving (just like y'all)
hopefully, y'all will end up burning in flames of
eternal damnation
for every singular person paraded
civilly through streets in support of good changes
and been delivered brute force in repayment
prisoners tortured, false statements
a sort of a lake of
disinformation, wars, liquidations
of those subverting a heinous
course undertaken
of course, fabrications
fO̲r legal cases (and elections, of course)
and nowadays, you've got Y̲O̲U̲r pesky agents
working on breaking
the web like Bourne which is Jason (Webb, David)
here come my warm salutations
to that stupid web regulator
that serves the dang Craymlin (got it?)
like your walking 𝓉ℴ𝒶𝓁ℯ𝓉ℯ brush, take a
[another sobriquet fitting the rhyme scheme: "toilet predator"]
hike; Y̲O̲U̲r limitations
hitting media being insubmissive ta
the sick regime which ya
sustain by dint of digital
censorship, to individuals
with views being similar
to mine, are like pork to unwave[–]ring
[the word's supposed to be read/pronounced as "unweyvring"]
Muslims; in other words, we evade 'em
(what are you gonna do about it?)
(back to dictators)
you're, like a vessel transporting blood, vain &
like someone implementing a mercy ask, craven
[vein; craving]
you're worthless like an ****** absorbed medication
to you procured a gunshot gorge perforation
as you may've gathered, as if you were **** plantation
employees, you, opportunists, sure irritate me
minus tooled up guys in uniforms & you're Swayze
some of those going politicians or power-wielders
are already bY̲ then vile people?
[Biden]
not the type to think so
that's humankind's horrible nature
highly evolved, still beasts, though
so Earth's, in a way, a
huge lair; got a shade sidetracked
like a train, my bad
I'ma explain, like that
Malaysian Boeing Ukraine skies'd had (ex-plane)
[had had]
before it got razed 'kin/sim.
[raised]
to folks storming a place which
a c#cks#cking usurper is based in
the earlier stated
"BIFOED"; once you are no more animated
like a cartoon paused, the verdict is plain 'kin/sim.
to a suit that is mourning-related
a torrid vacation, metaphorically saying
yet no point in packing Y̲O̲U̲r freaking raiment
since Y̲O̲U̲r destination's
[sins]
nothing short of pure Hades (if there is)
though (unlike some of you) I'm irreligious, but
it doesn't mean I'm cold to medieval stuff
like a hedonistic brush
with a chick replete with lust
in this realm, there can be a really hot
time for you; akin to witches stuck
to those stakes, you can wi[ɪ]nd up lit as f#ck
like after a cig. with **** you are
in the garden of the post-en–
–lightenment time going
[thyme]
which, in fact, is the reason the
Earth territory's in need of getting rid of ya

Napoleon stayed in Elba,
Pulling his bone apart;
Lenin was in Siberia,
So deep, none heard him ****.
Adolph passed his time in Landsburg,
Hardening his heart;
And Don's in Mar-a-Lago
Perfecting his Con art.
He's no Monte Cristo,
Righting perceived wrongs;
He'll fleece all his believers,
In stealth, like Viet Cong.

Mirror
by Kajal Ahmad, a Kurdish poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My era’s obscuring mirror          
shattered
because it magnified the small
and made the great seem insignificant.
Dictators and monsters filled its contours.            
Now when I breathe
its jagged shards pierce my heart
and instead of sweat
I exude glass.

Keywords/Tags: Kajal Ahmad, Kurd, Kurdish, translation, mirror, shattered, magnified, dictators, monsters, jagged, shards, sweat, perspire, leak, bleed, extrude, protrude, glass



The Lonely Earth
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

The pale celestial bodies
never bid her "Good morning! "
nor do the creative stars
kiss her.
Earth, where so many tender persuasions and roses lie interred,
might expire for the lack of a glance, or an odor.
She's a lonely dusty orb,
so very lonely! , as she observes the moon's patchwork attire
knowing the sun's an imposter
who sears with rays he has stolen for himself
and who looks down on the moon and earth like lodgers.



Kurds are Birds
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Per the latest scientific classification, Kurds
now belong to a species of bird!
This is why,
traveling across the torn, fraying pages of history,
they are nomads recognized by their caravans.
Yes, Kurds are birds! And,
even worse, when
there's nowhere left to nest, no refuge from their pain,
they turn to the illusion of traveling again
between the warm and arctic sectors of their homeland.
So I don't think it strange Kurds can fly but not land.
They wander from region to region
never realizing their dreams
of settling,
of forming a colony, of nesting.
No, they never settle down long enough
to visit Rumi and inquire about his health,
or to bow down deeply in the gust-
stirred dust,
like Nali.



Bi Havre (“Together”)
possibly the oldest Kurdish poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I want us to be together:
we would eat together,

climb the mountain together,
sing songs together, songs of love,

songs from the heart, sung from above.
I want us to have one heart, together.

Many words in this ancient poem are in doubt, so I have excerpted what I grok to be the central meaning.



And because Kajal mentioned Rumi, here are my translations of Rumi:

Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!

Are you a human being?
Or are you an agent of Satan?
Do you value human life?
Or do you consider it disposable?
Do you understand love?
Do you understand kindness?
Do you understand empathy?
If not, are you fit to run a company?
Are you fit to be a boss?
Are you fit to be an HR?
Are you fit to work at all?

You have been blinded
By your fanatical zeal for results
By your overpowering greed for money
By your insatiable lust for power
For you, employees are robots
Tailor-made for your animalistic needs
Which cannot be satisfied
By any sane human being
For the sake of your whims and fancies
Which change at the speed of light
Several innocent lives are being ruined
Today, it is the employees who are doomed
Tomorrow, it could be your husband
The day after, it may even be your daughter
And this vicious cycle will go on and on
With no end in sight
Therefore, for the sake of humanity
It is only just
That you are banished from Earth
Down to the all-consuming darkness of Hell
Where you will rot, for eternity
And the world shall be happier for it

As long as men die,
Liberty will never perish.

As long as there’s a sky,
Freedom will always be cherished.
Whenever men cajole and lie,
Oppression refills its chalice.

Mausoleums and refined cemeteries;
Hypogeums, perfectly aligned symmetry.
Resplendent medallions, ostentatious statues.
Dictators depict themselves as majestic stallions,
Doing everything to sensorily detach you,
Removing you from the frailty of reality.

A dictator will control discourse of all sorts;
They’ll hunt dissidents like it was a national sport.
They’ll turn the nation into their little fort,
And they’ll leave generations traumatised.
Opposition is demonised, criticism is stigmatised;
They’ll tell you that the enemy is everywhere,
And that entire communities should be marginalised.

A dictator will huff and puff until the house falls down.
Dictators **** entire countries, tearing sovereignty’s gown.
They’ll seize the population’s weaknesses,
Playing to your mind’s fears, its deepest recesses.

A dictator will convince you that he is a living god;
They’ll try to avoid you seeing through their fraud.
Remember that dictators are sacks of flesh,
Just like the rest of us;
They’ll rot in the ground when put to rest,
And their bones will return to dust.

Every day, as the clock strikes ten
You march into the office
Swinging your arms back and forth
In a crude imitation of Herr ******
As the eyes of every employee
Focus on your cold, black ones
As if by magic
A deafening silence fills the office
As Hope turns into Despair
Trust turns into Betrayal
Confidence turns into Insecurities
Love turns into Hate
And Peace turns into Pieces

As your ringing voice fills the air
Resulting in a cacophony
Louder than those infernal firecrackers
Everybody's worst nightmare comes true
As you yell at your team
Mocking all their painstaking efforts
Dehumanizing them with casteist remarks
Your voice cuts into their feelings
Like a knife through butter
Leaving wounds so deep
That the scars shine brightly
For the rest of their lives

You are not an employer
You are a cruel, sadistic tyrant
Hiding behind the facade
Of a concerned maternal figure
However, as with all tyrants
The day will eventually arrive
When you are toppled
From your lofty throne
Your business will sink
Just as the Titanic did
You will be in huge debt
Your ill-gotten gains evaporating into thin air
As your erstwhile employees have their last laugh
It is you, who will be left
With wounds so deep
That the scars shine brightly
For the rest of your miserable life