The U.N. is a theater house,
where warlords, drug lords, and mafias
wear the mask of statesmen.
Eighty years have passed—
what has changed?
They speak with honeyed tongues,
yet Gaza burns,
Ukraine bleeds,
Congo and Sudan melt into dust,
Libya is a fire unquenched.
These men you call leaders—
small gods in suits—
are but actors in a fool’s game.
The poor grow poorer,
the rich ascend to thrones of gold.
And still you believe—
still you kneel—
thinking these criminals
will bring you salvation?
No! They serve no people,
they represent no justice.
They serve only power,
and power devours its own.
And you, the masses,
with your blind faith,
electing executioners
to guard your children—
how can blind men lead us
to any promised land?
For eighty years
in the United Nations theater
the curtains rise,
the scripts repeat,
and the audience weeps in silence.
The world cries for peace,
for justice,
for equality—
yet what is offered
is freedom of fools,
a stage drenched in blood,
a democracy of shadows.
I do not claim that the days
are the executioners of the nights,
but as for me I prefer
wandering under the light of the stars,
filtering the conspicuity of the moon,
breathing the night air...
Your hands are silent executioners, each finger a hungry guillotine,
Let them glide over me slowly, like penance flowing as a slow river,
Let them cut every last fragment of restraint that still binds us,
This is not seduction, but a butchery of desires hidden beneath the skin.
I want your breath to be a burning pyre in the deep night,
Your mouth to become a tombstone, a sign of eternal silences,
Your hips to be the event that extinguishes worlds and creates chaos.
When I unravel beneath you, let it be a cataclysm of the senses,
Not a silent confession, but an explosion of worlds shattering within us.
I do not claim that the days
are the executioners of the nights,
but as for me I prefer
wandering under the light of the stars,
filtering the conspicuity of the moon,
breathing the night air...
I do not claim that the days
be executioners of the nights,
but as for me I prefer
wandering under the starlight,
filtering the conspicuity of the moon,
breathing night air...
Cerebral ventricles capitulate in the face of fatigue.
At night I am judged by executioners from the shadows who stalk me.
At dawn demons hold my head upright.
Our symbiosis is lethal,
and I can't kill them inside me.
That would be suicide indeed.
/it's getting dark/
The night surrendered to me.
corrosive eyelid rains destroy the skin,
on my body are written the names of the victims
of my internal wars.
I am a woman of principle,
but you should be afraid of them.
You only served me pain,
along with the pain, you also served me a salve,
so that tomorrow your conscience doesn't burn you alive,
but every diagnosis wakes up my inner fires and I burn from the inside,
the verdict on the paper which you bequeathed to me.
Do you have a salve for that too?
Blue Suburbs
Like in Saint Denis
Day and night
The zombies cross paths
in Jersey City
Those who slam their dreams in eldorados
cross day and night
Those who have cracked them in the New York blue
They all have one thing in common
the empty look
the lowered head
the determined steps
away from the New York blue
Towards the same illusory goal
Executioners and victims
Of themselves
Drowned by the New York blue
Aby, New York, 21th May 2022
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)
Many experts on Jesus & His Teachings
Can quote His words - few final words -
For mercy & love, not duty, here & above:
Did not Jesus say: Father Forgive them?
Alas, they are not "them" - blind soldiers
"Who know not" - who they kill (we know!)
Jesus forgave His Roman executioners
But not Judas and the religious experts
"Better you were not born ... On his neck,"
The traitors' Scarlett Letter (or "millstone")
For Judas, the high priest, and their ilk
Also what Christ said. Chapter & verse exist
Fact check: Take up your cross & follow Me
Was a big part of Jesus' teaching before
He exposed religion for what it is: business
"Do not turn my father's house ... to thieves"
Are among the words of Jesus, we fail to note
Fail to remember, to follow, & rarely quote
Heavy Monday morning,
And I can't Wake up again.
I will support all the slackers,
I want to bury my face in your shoulder.
It's not sad to go together,
Let's go this way.
Let's have a nice Breakfast
And take a walk somewhere.
No one knows about the problems,
Which oppress me in the night.
This is the scheme of life,
That there are only executioners around me.
I travel the world,
To find yourself somewhere.
I always carry a lyre with me,
To sing you some of my poetry.
All roads are important to me,
These are the ways to my happiness.
I'll hug you at the end of the day,
And I will feel your passion.
You mean a lot to me
And you're closer than anyone,
Keeping you a secret from everyone,
I'm telling you: "Thank you!"
Deep under subteranion covers where nowhere
lingers everywhere and the decrepit lights of man
die to the world
Wrapped in rags-a masachistic christ plotting my
crucifixtion born again and again washed in
human guts-baptized by fire just a man naked
chasing the sun and moon unashamed loving all
matter all consciousness all people authentic
power of just deciding to be each second weirder
then before...strange needs coating the
eyelashes no hope of existential immortality
just a cold march to bloody loving shithood
heavens-these games we play-role of a urine
drenched prophet unknown dismissed dragged
down the executioners hole gorged on self
What are U?
Cracking open the bodily vault dispearsing
terminal fluids
Im a treacherous snake in the gardens of my
sanctuary-man only is where no one can see
Out of tune songs rush up my spine in gruesome
melodic chaos-shoot up the messiha till the
streets are covered in all that physical temple
goo out of ghetto rope streets
I hang in the hopeless nights
A bin in a sin is a din a Zen. But a booming bongo basket could always equate to a left hooked right winged shark. Oh gosh it's dark.. Oh dear. Oh no. A cracked out fish on a display. Er. Even the wildest foot could not display a metric feet. And a multi mule is a kilometre in a mud pit. But nevermind the cellar in a cesspit which always roles twice in a moon. Over and over but not oversized. Oh well. Big deal. A fathomable bag of conversation is a broom curve in a bush. la la laughable long-term lines. And a bracket form of the United Methodist isn't a little late but I don't know what to wear and the clan of the article is an antic formed by a deity of widespread wisdomatic curvaceous dew. Hahahahaha spill moons. Hahahaha sip suns hahahaha aerial dynamics xxxxxxxxxxxxxx polypeptides polynomial polynomial xxxxxxx executioners exiting xxxxxxx delve not in a diva dive xxxxxxxx had he Hendre hat xxxxxxxxx general Glitter generally xxxxxx Philipsburg point xxxx hypercholesterolemia xxxxxxx z p y q reporting from p y what p y Q reporting? Xxxxxxx
The feelings I have in my stomach are of anger
And fear from long, long ago. The child in me
Still suffers the brutal emotional violence which
My parents besieged, so young I could only
Take their verbal, emotional, and mental abuse
Without reply. A helpless victim. A custodial
Sentence still accompanies me for they both
Died long ago. Daily I try to kill them off once
And for all. So difficult, so very difficult when
I was once tied to my mother's womb. No one
Understands my sorrow, my aloneness, my
Desert of solitude where demons play out those
Days of darkness and despair. Here I am still
Alive, at least on the outside to the world yet
Inside I was murdered long ago. Everyday a
Day of resurrection, new life, new breath, new
Hope. My executioners perished into the bottom-
Less pit. It's hard; bloody hard living a decent
Life but I try. I try to be good, to do the right
Thing. Oh! the swell sea of emotions. Courage,
Courage and more courage to live for today
And to try to love; whatever love means, hid
Behind the veiled scenes of days gone by.
My question has to be; WHY WHY WHY WHY.
Trapped between darkness and light,
the goodness of day,
and the evils of night.
The bonds of sanity are fraying,
becoming too loose...
He's praying,
but I tighten the noose.
I kick away the bucket,
and with a sickening thud,
I see him choking,
his throat filled with blood.
It's a terrifying feeling,
taking away a life...
I marked them off one by one,
with the cut of a knife.
Slicing pale skin,
it's the least of my sins.
I've watched as men died,
regarding their blood as if it was mine.
Condemned king to death by Pirate, scourged and crowned with thorns
Flesh torn in payment for our sins, Jesus took up His cross
Falling for the first time drained by weight upon his shoulders
Surrounded by hate, his mother's presence lighted his face
Footsteps began faltering Simon helps carry his cross
Veronica wiped man's cruelty from our Saviour's face
Falling a second time his strength failed dwindling to the ground
Kind women weep not for for me but yourself and children's sake
He fell a third time dragged then prodded to move forward
Stripped of his garments my merciless executioners
Nailed unto a cross hands and feet until his cruel end
He commended his soul to the Father's love then breathed his last
Taken down placed onto our blessed mother's loving arms
His body wrapped and anointed with spices placed in the tomb
So many, so dead
Where did they come from, and why?
Why do they hate us?
So much death, so much
Young people die much too soon
Parents live to mourn.
Some of the young died,
Because their vests hid the bombs.
Executioners.
What should we do now?
How can we stop all of this?
Or must more die first?
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