"You are what I use!”
Who said that?
Never mind, it must be an auditory illusion.
“And I speak what you play.
I use you, not the opposite;
multiplying my iron-rust words.”
Where are these words coming from?
Or am I mad?
I push my fingers to block my ears,
shake my head to dust the sounds away,
but it persists like unrepentant mosquito disturbance.
“You can’t hide from your shadow,
neither can you run away from your legs;
you must play my games
but you can’t call my names.
I am the swarm of rottenness’ flies,
in vain you subscribe to my insurance.
I am the eclipse in your sun’s rise,
in vain you fight perpetual retardation.
I am ‘politricks’;
malpractice politics –
the mirage in your hopes,
the nightmare in your dreams,
the graves on your birthbed side,
and I boldly declare:
alone I make you eat your seeds
and stare wide-eyed at bare soils.
I’m the grinding stone that smashed your pepper,
you are my strength.
I live in the house of your whispers,
silent tears and mumbled grumblings.
In vain you throw stones at me,
you don’t even know my name,
yet I am in your mirror.
Your love for me
is my knife in your throat.
You should turn to truth and justice and see
if I will not paint you in the heart of orphans,
sew you in the lips of gossips
and capture you as the screensaver till the sunset of the yet unborn.
For then, I will be politics,
the displacer of the swarm of rottenness’ flies."