Long poem by
John Arribas | Details |
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
A REVOLUTION IS MUCH DEEPER THAN WHAT THE EYE CAN SEE
AN OPPORTUNITY TO RID THE LAND OF DESPOTISM AND TYRANNY
WHEN ANY CITIZEN CAN EXPOSE THE ENEMIES OF THE STATE
PRESENT AND JUDGE VALID EVIDENCE TO ARRIVE AT A JUST FATE
BUT THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN EXCEPT IN THE RAREST OF THE TIME
CAUSE MOBS WANT VENGEANCE EVEN IF THERE IS NO CRIME
VINDICTIVE MOBS WILL LET NO ONE STAND IN THEIR WAY
THEY CAN ONLY BE QUIETED BY MAKING THE DEFEATED PAY
ONCE THE OLD REGIME HAS BEEN OUSTED AND OVERTHROWN
THE GENERAL POPULACE WANTS RETRIBUTION TO CALL ITS OWN
FRENZIED MOBS WANT ALLEGATIONS OF ANY ON WHICH TO REACT
EVERY ACCUSATION IS TAKEN AS AN INDISPUTABLE FACT
THOSE THAT ARE ACCUSED OF PRIOR REGIME COLLABORATION
WILL BE TRIED AND CONVICTED WITHOUT HESITATION
THE PENALTIES WILL VARY ACCORDING TO THE TYPE OF PEOPLES CRIME
SOME WILL BE EXECUTED, OTHERS SENT TO PRISON FOR A VERY LONG TIME
THOSE WITH NEIGHBORS OR OTHERS WITH DIFFERING OPINES
WILL ANONYMOUSLY BE ACCUSED OF TREASONABLE CRIMES
IF MAN HAS AN ATTRACTIVE WIFE , COVETED FOR PERSONAL ROLES
HE’D BE SINGLED OUT AS UNDERMINING THE REVOLUTIONS GOALS
CHILDREN WOULD BE ASKED TO REPORT ON THEIR PARENTS TALK
DO THEY PRAISE THE REVOLUTION OR DO THEY BALK
MEN DON’T GATHER IN THE STREET IN IDLE CONVERSATION ANY MORE
IN FEAR OF BEING ACCUSED OF PLOTTING A COUNTER REVOLUTIONARY WAR
INVESTIGATIONS OF WRONG DOING WILL INCREASE AS PLANNED
TIL EVERY ONE FEELS THREATENED THROUGH OUT THE LAND
FACTS AND ALLEGATIONS ARE ALL TREATED THE SAME
ANYONE ACCUSED IS CERTAIN TO SHOULDER THE BLAME
WHILE THE MOB APPLAUDS THE ACTION OF A KANGAROO COURT
NO ONE OBJECTS TO THE TACTICS TO WHICH THE INSURGENTS RESORT
THE RULING INSURGENTS TELL THE CITIZENS TO PREPARE FOR ACTION
AN IMPENDING ATTACK BY THE OUSTED IS A SIMPLE DISTRACTION
THE VICTORIOUS PARTIES PURGE DISSENTERS FROM THEIR RANKS
THE TRUE PATRIOTS AND HEROES THAT REALLY MERIT THANKS
THEY WILL BE ACCUSED OF PLOTTING TO SABOTAGE THE REVOLUTION
INCRIMINATING EVIDENCE WILL SURFACE TO PROVE THEIR COLLUSION
EVIDENCE AGAINST THEM MOUNTS PROVING A PLANNED CONSPIRACY
EVIDENCE IS AUTHENTICATED BUT ONLY THE ACCUSERS CAN TO SEE
THOSE TAINTED MEMBERS OF THE ORIGINAL REBELLIOUS GROUP
ARE SENTENCED TO LONG TERMS TAKING THEM OUT OF THE LOOP
MEMBERS POPULAR WITH THE MOBS WITH NO THREATS TO FACE
SUDDENLY AND MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEAR WITHOUT LEAVING A TRACE
STRUGGLE FOR POWER WILL CONTINUE WITHIN THE VICTORS TEAM
TIL THE MOST COLD-BLOODED ONE DOMINATES EVERY SCENE
REIGNING POWER IS NOW IN HANDS OF AN EGOCENTRIC MAN
ALL OPPOSITION HAS BEEN SILENCED THROUGH OUT THE LAND
THOSE HOLDING ON TO OPPOSING VIEWS ARE HUNTED DOWN
BLOCK TEAMS ARE ESTABLISHED IN EVERY CITY AND TOWN
BLOCK DIRECTORS HAVE SPYING DUTIES THE MAIN IS TO REPORT
ANY SUSPICIOUS MOVEMENTS OR ACTIVITIES TO THE CITIZENS COURT
EMPLOYMENT IS TERMINATED AND THE ACCUSED SENT OFF TO A FARM
WHERE POLITICAL VIEWPOINTS ARE ALTERED TO RENDER NO HARM
FEAR OF DEATH AND IMPRISONMENT IS SO DEEPLY INSTILLED
MOST MINDS ARE CONQUERED ONLY THE STRONGEST HAVE WILL
THIS IS THE REWARD FOR SEEKING FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION
A PSYCHOTIC IDEOLOGUE MADE THIS LAND HIS PERSONAL POSSESSION
WE SURRENDERED OUR WEAPONS BUT MOSTLY OUR IDEAS
WE’RE COMPLETELY DOMINATED AND RULED BY INSIDIOUS FEARS
LOOKING BACK IT NOW SEEMS THE REGIME WE OVERTHREW
WASN’T AS BAD AS WE THOUGHT, WE WERE ALWAYS ABLE TO MAKE DO
REVOLUTIONARIES THAT FOMENT CHANGE USING THE GUN
WILL STILL BE ARMED WHEN THE FIGHTING IS DONE
STUDENTS OF HISTORY ARE SMUG AND QUICK TO UNDERSTAND
HOW THIS BEAUTIFUL ISLAND WAS COMMANDEERED BY ONE MAN
SO MANY WERE MESMERIZED BY HIS UNENDING GLIB TONGUE
LIKE DEMONS CALLED STALIN, HITLER AND MAO TSE TUNG
THERE ARE MANY MEN LIKE THESE IN EACH GENERATION
PREYING ON THOSE FEELING OR PROMOTING FRUSTRATION
THESE VILLAINS ARE LAUDED TIL THEIR MOTIVES COME CLEAR
THEIR MAIN WEAPONS ARE TERROR AND BONE CHILLING FEAR
THE MASSES WILL DEMAND A PLEBISCITE AND NEW CONSTITUTION
NOT GOING TO HAPPEN WITHOUT A NEW REVOLUTION
THE LOSS OF FREEDOM DOESN’T HAPPEN OVERNIGHT
IT DISAPPEARS AFTER EACH UNCONTESTED LITTLE BITE
THIS IS A WARNING TO ALL THAT ARE FREE
DON’T THINK LITTLE BITES CAN’T HAPPEN TO THEE
ONE COULD EASILY CHANGE A FEW LINES AND ADD A FEW DETAILS
AND COME UP WITH RUSSIA, VENEZUELA ,CHINA ETC. A GLIB TONGUE
AND A TIRED PUBLIC ARE EASY PICKINGS FOR THE EGOMANIACS
IN THE WORLD. THIS IS ABOUT CUBA
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
Everything that is created
disguises a hidden purpose....
A calligrapher writes out his lines
not just for the exquisiteness of the script
but to also convey a meaning.
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)
What is the purpose of poetry,
and therefore of the poet?
Beautifully flowing style and structure?
or truth of content?
Is poetic purpose the meaning of its language
or the art of linguistic choices?
Of course it must be both,
symbiotically fertilizing and farming each incubating embryo,
functioning and forming creative language,
an expression of intuited deduction,
refinement toward exegetically known and felt soul-truth
through eisegetical analogy
economy of linguistic order,
principles of languaged left-brained human nature
dancing prancing functional flow and forms
through right-brained regeneratively intuited
proportional and aesthetic octave polycultured memory,
What evolves and seeds
plants and pulls
harvests and winnows language,
understanding and learning,
comprehension and mentoring orthopraxis,
ecotherapy and healing
rationality and polypathic sanity?
This optimally sustaining
revolutionary bipolar meaning
for graceful living
and healing poetry,
enculturates as metaphysically expressed
through universal laws of language
and cooperative economics,
trans-actively mutual mentoring love,
as words teach us what we think
and thoughts inspire our Way (Tao)
toward optimally inclusive expression.
Meanwhile poetry evolves physically incarnating
through global dancing and singing
in full octave ringing circles
of energy and organic-spiral dynamic mass,
Poets conduct dancing lyrics of life through death,
Poets prehend self-governance structures
in ways of light more enlightened
than competing partisan pedantry;
which may not be saying much for poets.
Transliterating Laotse on "Rulers":
Of the best public administrators
The people only have faith,
prehend, that they exist,
or did way back in the day;
The next best they love and praise:
the comprehensively wise polypaths
with CQI regenerative well-being outcomes.
The abusive and tyrannical next they fear;
And the neglectful next they revile and ridicule;
weak and humorless fools.
When poets do not command the people's faith,
Some will lose faith in them,
And then they resort to oaths!
But, of the best,
those wisely compassionate cooperative poetic-rulers,
when their outcomes are optimally accomplished,
their full-octaved permacultural design word work done,
The folks all remark,
"We have written and told and danced,
lived and breathed,
colored and cultured it ourselves."
It is no more or less feasible
to have a mutually subsidiary
and cooperative design and development
than it is to find a wise and holy
competitive hoarder of wealth and power.
Everything that is created
disguises a hidden purpose.
teleology as ecologic.
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
Evolution unfolds history
as economics forms cultural values.
Just as currency only carries values we supply
as a society of economists,
so my own paltry sums can only carry those values
I am willing to invest.
Money does not grow out of some distant Orthodox investment value tree,
We invest our money,
like our time,
in our values, or disvalues.
Cash is our economic cart,
while our cultural health is our investment horsepower.
Our wealth values are subjects of economic life,
as integrative investments are objects,
meaningful as ecological life and healthy time
and peace and justice as actively invested love.
Our "need" values are negatively synaptic--
lots of horsepower,
as our want values are positively aptic,
optimal composting economic norms
and naturally healthy law assumptions of synergetic ecologic,
like the stress of rapid spring growth
must separate winter's decompositional co-gratitude
from summer's regenerous amplitude.
We need to not be hated and hateful
marginalized or marginalizing others.
We need to be loved as lovers of all nature,
including humane nature.
We would like to not be neglected and ignored,
the subject of our own self-ridicule.
We would like to be met with gratitude
and healthy robust trust
and willingness to invest in mutually cooperative values.
We invest in ecological cooperation more gracefully
knowing our future time is intrinsically co-redemptive,
through our synergetic praxis,
cooperative self and other love
as gift-it-forward investments from Elder generations,
passing through our positive co-arising intent,
to redeem our future history of regenerators.
Ecojustice yang horsepower
races genetically bionic Eco-Logic's YinYin Cart,
just as ecological values and disvalues
empower global Yang to drive
our binomial economic cart of wealth deposits and empoverishing loss
and health risk,
currency as energy flow and constipation,
and nutritional functions of co-redemptive compost.
Ecological karma predicts economic grace,
or not so much risk
and loss of face.
A regeneratively optimizing ecosystem
presupposes a redemptively cooperative economy.
A degenerative sub-optimizing eco-stressed culture,
lack of comprehensive consciousness,
grows mental and physical illness,
chronic cognitive dissonance,
inclusive affective autism,
flat-line economic entropy
with high risks of wilting
consumers and producers,
extinguishing richly effective pollinators.
It seems to me that ecological trends
predict an economic trickle up theory,
disempowerment and disinvestment
in synergetic systems,
beloved and climax community development,
will continue leading toward our demise,
until this unraveling ecosystem
reconnects balancing tipping points
and wu-wei principle
for reweaving ecojustice.
An EarthTribe platform of Earth Rights,
for Self as Earth-holonic,
as for Other,
as for all Earth's natural eco-justice logical future.
Long poem by
John lawless | Details |
I CAN’T BREATHE
I am being suffocated by causes.
Will we march Quixote-like
enraged by the spinning of the windmills?
We protest the wars carrying placards
while expecting others to carry arms,
praise God and worship Jesus while
condemning all others to eternal damnation.
How many would offer to abort – an abortion –
by offering to adopt the child at birth,
feed the hungry at their own kitchen table,
stage a “die-in” in the lobbies of academia
demanding they empty their cash filled
endowment accounts – and give to the poor,
clothe the naked, drill wells for the thirsty.
In our effort to “Celebrate Diversity” are we
selectively excluding those who are just
too diverse for us? Must we sacrifice our
history and culture on the altar of inclusiveness?
Perhaps, in time, our exhalations will become
toxic to an environment devoid of trees to
balance our co-dependent existence.
Why are the rights of the 1% minority less
important than those of the 99% who claim
to be in the majority. Are not politicians corrupt
by the very nature of the political power structure?
Should we vote blindly because we do not
listen – only hear what we want to hear,
sit in the eye of the hurricane of apathy
warning all of the dangers outside of it,
tax the poor to fund programs for the poor,
subsidize farmers to grow less to keep the
prices high, rail against compromises in
the privacy laws while posting our lives
on Face Book, twitter, and u-tube.
Have we forgotten the cries of the oppressed:
“No more genocides, no more holocausts”,
turned our backs, averted our eyes
lest we see the horror we negligently condone.
Will we black out all our bumper stickers,
discard all of our tee shirts, assist the
elderly shopper in reaching the high shelf,
pick up after our pets – or even more
spiritually – pick up after someone else,
speak to the disheveled panhandler –
if only briefly - to say good morning,
contribute more than money and
three cans of tuna to the food drive,
assist voters to the polls regardless
of their political leanings, allow those
who do not see our concerns as having
any real value their opinion. Will we(I)
be their when the marches are over,
the media bored with the cause, the
placards torn and faded, the enthusiasm
waning as work, school, exams, life –
and the living of it – move us back to
the eye of the maelstrom, the safety of
conformity, the “peace” of acquiescence.
Or will we scream each morning
“LET US BREATHE”. Let us breathe
life and passion and power into our
day, reach out and “BE CAUSE”,
stay the course lest the ship lose
it heading, run aground on the shoals
of false satisfaction at how involved
we were, how much we accomplished.
Will we breathe the breath of truth,
of freedom, of love, of peace, of unity
across this land reaching to the shores
and forests of our world, reaching to
touch the hand of that stranger
who lives next door.
John G. Lawless
Long poem by
Sophia Jenkins | Details |
O to my generation
What happen to the days of imagination, when did we get so lazy? I give it to us we address the problems of bullying small kids, fat kids, poor kids black and yellow and brown kids and the disable. Most of the cruelties from our parents’ generation. It’s ok to be gay it’s ok to have your happiness at the expense of forgetting integrity. We run to our mother who raised us television was her name. NBC, CBS, ABC, MTV and, FOX taught us how to be .Tupac, and Biggie smalls, Foo fighters, Green day. Weezer .gave voice to our pain.
We are the lost generation of the decline .Although I believe in women’s rights .That day in the 1960 s when our mothers went to work our family died .Daddy no longer knew how to be the leader .So divorce came. in to our house. Step families came into place. Our fathers were so hurt from our mother going to work they never recovered .They just made more mothers and less families.
No girls knows how to become a woman so she watched movies in 90201 and Yo MTV raps told her how to dress prime time TV told her what boys wanted .Seventeen magazine and Elle and vogue taught her to be everything the roaming boys needed before they became the carbon copies of their roaming fathers .
Selfish parents give way to selfish children .But there selfish children take it one step further .With their TV dreams .Raise by our mother cable. Everybody wants to be famous. Our boys want fast cars and even faster women going from one bed to the next .showing the original mothers that they moved on from the original abandonment. Selfish girls strike back by showing men not only do they not need them to survive but they can be better providers and live life not only to obtain but master what men only attain thru their gender rights .
Everyone becomes so out sorts they need chemicals to function .With the abandonment of the original mother .They coat there fillings and cocaine and weed and dampen there view of life with alcohol. .We are the generation of the angry seed. We overcame injustice of acknowledgements .But in the end we lost our family.
Now the angry boys are angry men .They strike back at the original, mother in make baby mothers pre-made broken families .The girls sell their happiness to the highest bidder. So the madness has over taken us so much that our imaginations die. we reality TV ourselves because we wish our real life wasn't .We try to get off the chemicals in give ourselves a second chance .We go on journeys to find the love of the mother who went to work in the sixties. Until then we jacks ass ,catfish, keep up with girls who have sex on camera to become our heroes .We bad girls club ,Basketball wives ,ourselves ,shave our heads ,snort our troubles ,and smoke ourselves until she comes back in say mommy’s home in daddy can lead us again.
Long poem by
Manda Martinez | Details |
My super power is to control time
I like to think this in my mind
although it can never be stopped
take a hit of this dank **ed
and remember **it that you forgot
I can hear the clock
as it ticks and it tocks
away the building blocks
on the steps towards success
i climbed to reach the top
enlightenment to me is determining whether my thoughts
are aligned and centered
on going for the gold to making my life better
gold is another objective of life
to making things right
the truth is told at night
when you cant see the that sneaky serpent creeping
as eve takes a bite
of that forbidden fruit
going against everything she was told to do
the third eye in the sky will always find you
and now we are facing a lifetime punishment
with a bunch of greedy republicans
making worldwide decisions for our government
we are in for destruction of doom
society never lets us bloom
we are consumed
after being cut at the stem
factorizing us all into identical copies
to turn out just like them
we are all copies of the past generation
placed in a half ***ed congregation
of unfair stratification
loss of all human to human communication
we have been blinded by these walls
only to be set up to be watched as we fall
they don't want us to see exactly
what is in store for tomorrow
and where we fall
is exactly the placement we were supposed to follow
the minds of the general people are hollow
their pride they are taught to swallow
they are never taught to rebel
discouraged by the idea that sin leads
to the road of hell
we are not equipped with the courage
so we let the sin within continue to flourish
like the overpriced wine
from all the grapes that were dying on the vine
get lost in time and become intertwined
with skeptical thoughts about all external life
start gambling with death
just for ***its and kicks
the number of the beast is six six six
but the lucky numbers are triple sevens
everyday i still continue to sin
so i too may not be able to explore behind the doors
of the so called heavens
so congrats to the rats who twisted the facts
by giving me false information and all those knives in my back
from all the knowledge and wisdom i still lack
until there is realization
the beast lives within
the clawing under our skin
i try to deny his entrance but he still finds ways to creep in
try to show it the way out
but didnt leave without a doubt
it ended with an intense conversation
and smoke rushing out of my mouth
Long poem by
Rhoda Monihan | Details |
The American Presidential Election on 8th November 2016
Will determine the nation’s future policies and government
Its candidates will qualify by caucuses and primaries successes
And all most definitely with seriousness will give addresses
Hillary Clinton is a democrat nominee and former first lady
Barrack Obama’s Secretary of State who has husband Bill
She’s 68 and wants more unions, childcare and research
And promotes “clear-eyed capitalism” and partnerships’ thrills
All the democrats are on for interacting with climate change
And she’ll install a half billion solar panels no problem
Every home will use renewable energy in some way
And of the science of climate change she will be an emblem
Bernie Saunders is a democratic socialist, 74 and with a heart
For the Nordic political system, and so will tax the wealthy flat
He’ll provide tuition-free education and change health care
And of sick pay, paid vacations and woman’s rights he will blare
But most daringly, he’ll regulate Wall Street, set it to law
To ensure no crashes cause recessions cold and hard
And please do note, most of the democrats will control that sector
In some way, as it has played the volatile financial card
Martin O’Malley is 52 and the Governor of Maryland
Who stood before for candidacy and wants a living wage
He’ll offer immigrants the right to education, not deportation
And wants financial regulation, gun control and is on a caring page
Ted Cruz is a republican and only 45, but is a Texas senator
And like most republicans, is anti-abortion and dismisses gay rights
He’s with capitalism and against extensive federal spending
But seems to only patronise the Iraq and Afghanistan fights
George Bush’s brother Jeb, the Governor of Florida, aged 62
Believes passionately in the Iraq invasion, open and rather blasé
But he will increase KidCare and renewable energy by 25%
Although he’ll dismantle affirmative action and slash criminal’s therapy
And Donald Trump 71 is another republican, who seems like a ballon,
Full of air and made of nothing: loud, brash and at risk of flatulence;
He’s pro-life and will sit and watch a financial crash happen, being prepared
And doesn't believe in taxing corporations that have too much affluence
I won’t be laughing if Donald Trump becomes the president
And would quietly like a woman to sit in the White House
But I admit that I silently love Bernie Saunders and his socialism
As I’m hoping for a democrat to curb discrimination and working classism
Long poem by
Asghar Nazeer | Details |
We come to this world of surprises at a time we don't choose!
Not knowing if we'll get to a paradise or hell would break loose!
We are born to parents whom we yet have to know well enough!
We've no clue if our home is a cosy palace or cottage too rough!
Yet to discover who would be there among our family and friends!
If we will have many to pamper us or left on our own to meet ends!
Will we make it into the Ivy Leagues or ghetto streets be our schools?
To groom us into scholars for the academia or workmen using tools!
We don't even know if we'd be able-bodied and have a lucid mind!
Or ones with some special needs who depend on others to be kind!
Sent into the uneven terrains of life, we have a battle of survival to fight!
Told no matter how we are ambushed, never choosing wrong over right!
We see all kinds of folks, some playing by the rules and others free-style!
With foul play giving a winning edge, the righteous gets shaky for a while!
Some have all the odds on their sides and still prey on the hapless ones!
When sweet words could bring peace, they want to play with their guns!
We quietly see the humans being massacred, scream on shooting a bird!
Why listen to the divisive, not giving peacemakers a chance to be heard?
There are already lots of differences in what we are blessed with at birth!
Some are destined to live a life in misery, others always giggling in mirth!
It is not the gross inequalities we are born with, which agonize us the most!
What grieves us is how we share the bounties of world, that's our only host!
The hungry and poor don't ask for having every luxury in its perfect equality!
What those suffering souls need is just to afford a square meal with frugality!
We excel in our armchair lip-service, whether we are a politician or a nerd!
When we know it's our right, why don't we strive for a fair and equal world?
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Long poem by
Abder Derradji | Details |
Who speaks does indeed lie,
Who does not, surely knows more,
But keeps silent by fear to die,
The Walls have ears,
To listen and hear,
The brother became a foe to testify,
A brother sells a brother,
In this deep, dark room,
Under the torch blow!
Body parts here and there, exposed,
To the naked eye!
In the X room,
In between the butler’s hands,
The truth and evidence are baklava-like
Fabricated and made,
In that sweep clean sink,
God has been mentioned one million and a half times,
But no hear…no see!
The law of Amorta is above all laws,
My witnesses are solid static objects to say,
A bottle, a spanner, a screwdriver,
A hammer and an electric tool to go,
To accomplish the job,
The dirty job, you’ve guessed what next to do!
Bastards have adopted names and,
Became respected men,
Old grannies are raped in turn and in presence of their beloved ones,
Old grannies turned delightful virgins, and were re-raped again,
Simple mothers who backed the first November bread were sliced,
Dogs ceased to bark like before,
Cats became sheepish and were all kept indoors,
Their presence also ceased to scare rats and mice,
Along the streets, boulevards and corridors,
And morality, honour, pride and co,
Were all sold in the black market,
For a cheap Dinar and in that store,
Or were all buried in the sand,
Or were all soaked with this mighty black gold,
Or were all lit with a match to blow, blow…blow!
Scared to death where death becomes now only a nirvana,
Scared as a shaking leaf,
Scared not to die, but scared to witness and testify,
Your own soul is coming out of you,
Out of your being in a slow motion,
Whilst you are still bleaking,
Not a single scream, nor a single cry!
You plead guilty or not,
No one can protect you,
Nessuno comes to your salvation, Mai,
No one comes to your salvation,
Whether you tell the whole truth, or a fabricated lie!
Hooligans and outlaws were forced to march in uniform,
And were called the sons of nation,
To help, to save a war of gains and privatisation,
Kids if not slaughtered or kidnapped,
Are given sweets and short religious sermons,
On patriotism and are used to decorate road-sides,
And put on stage to boost a song and a play...
But bastards remain always bastards,
By God almighty! Earth and sky!
The filthy flesh remains always stinky,
Even if camouflaged with a fragrant scented high,
And in what a true perfume could mean and signify!
Long poem by
Scribbler Of Verses | Details |
The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.
When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,
ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,
does Allah not recoil in horror,
to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.
Where is the indignation,
the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,
where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,
where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,
where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,
where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.
14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,
Advocating the rights of girls to an education.
Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.
Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.
Shame on me,
for my inaction,
Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,
yet are conspicuously silent,
when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,
by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.
Not in my name!
Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,
Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,
Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,
left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,
not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,
not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,
as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.
I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,
yet I fear,
that I shall write more of this,
unless we stand up and say 'no more',
I fear that I shall be writing this again,
until we all,
reclaim the true principles of humaneness,
until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of fanatical insanity,
I fear I shall be writing this again,
until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,
I shall continue to say,
NOT IN MY NAME!
Or else I shall have nothing,
but my unending shame.
(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)
Scribbler Of Verses