It took one hour to define the war on Iran --
A massacre becoming the hallmark of American aggression,
168 girls, ages 7 to 12, incinerated by the smart bombs, their teachers too.
Minab is now a metaphor for the entire war,
Mentioned on page 11 of New York Times, not fit to print on front page with the headline"American atrocity in Iran." That would be uncharacteristic candor!
Sometimes the imperialists bury their own atrocity under a soft deceiving rhetoric, like the words "alleged"or "under investigation," hoping the time is on their side, but it ain 't.
Minab s girls are not forgotten, their pictures adorn the streets of Iran, remembered forever.
If one does not blame the culprits who blame it on "dated targets," empires get away with their madness, though Minab is now engraved on the forehead of Western civilization --an eternal sin that can t be washed away, call it Iran 's Mai Lai, binding the downtrodden of the South in their oceanic empathy.
I hate everything -
the reflection my mind shows
is jagged,
pointing at every flaw
with cold, surgical precision.
I do not understand the lessons
I should have learned by now;
The maps others followed
were incinerated
before my fingertips met the pages edge.
I speak.
I act,
and every word fractures the air.
faces tighten
like brittle glass
under unseen pressure.
And still, they call me
"The best thing in the world",
light and death,
while I spread the poison like a disease
just from inflating my lungs.
Sometimes I wish to vanish quietly,
leave no trace,
no smoke,
no echoes of the names you once called me.
But the accusation of selfishness strikes with immediate,
deafening gunfire.
I continue to patch the wounds and holes left by others,
my unneeded and wasted blood filling the voids
while my skin breaks cleanly,
my heart tears without mercy.
The figure my mind has constructed
waits in the dark,
unmoving.
while I screamed with my burning lungs
to take me away
Like when "Love" took away the pain
that used to be enough
to keep me here.
Deafening silence.
It can crush the strongest soul,
soften the hardest warrior,
confuse the shiniest mind.
Yet, some souls call it home.
Void, mostly filled with —
lies, sins, borrowed identities.
Draining until last drop
of each other's blood.
Fleeing from the stare
of their own imitations in the mirror.
Their own voice whispering,
in the corner of their beliefs.
But few embrace this silence,
not by courage, nor pride.
Just for the clarity of being.
They cross this life, allowing
no one to dilute themselves.
I hovered close to the sun,
incinerated and lost my wings.
Never could I follow these steps,
and turn into my own beast.
deafening silence.
tradition blown to the wind
religion incinerated
and with it all sin
the past is no matter
the future my choice
~ if only I could find my own voice
the dragon conquered both armies, annihilating them with fire
soldiers screamed as he incinerated both sides, their lines breeched.
shields did not help them, and swords would not pierce his armor.
soldiers were helpless, falling down as the dragon screeched in the mire.
two witnesses lived to tell the tale, ten thousand and one dead.
though on opposite sides during the war, they became fast friends.
the dragon claimed yonder castle as his own and promptly went to bed.
two new friends ran home to tell the tale, without exaggeration bends.
spirits that floated out of the war that day went to various places of course.
patience had to be with the solider spirits who arrived at heaven's gate
leaders went the same way, and realized they were both thick and Norse.
why were we fighting? They asked each other. Why the hate?
the dragon felt smug as he watched these antics in his crystal ball.
he wanted marauders, soldiers, and armies to see their demise, their fall.
we are all put on earth to learn to love each other, after all.
he demanded dragon soup and stayed with this staff until the fall.
My spirit,
Incinerated.
Its ashes
Descend back into
That dark crater:
That inky opaque abyss,
Where the slightest din
Is swallowed,
Where that one fragment of light is asphyxiated,
Held down,
Stripped and raped from its alluring, golden iridescence.
It drowned in its own tears
And then scattered across its own grave.
They turn their backs
With apathy entrenched into their depths:
The reason for my oblivion
May every sunrise, so dear and clear,
Cast its rays upon your every tear.
May every tear from your saddened eyes
Become debris from your midnight cries.
May every non-joyful tear bow in defeat
and be incinerated from the sunrise heat.
By sunset, before day turns into night,
May your heart and soul be free of fright.
020124PS
The yellow neon sign casted a glow upon his chiselled cheekbones as the bustling sounds of a city that never slept droned on.
He carried his troubles with him, like a worn out cloak, weighing him down in his every step. His mind was entwined in a thorny thicket.
He has been haunted and bewildered since his introduction to her in a smoky speakeasy.
She was a siren shadow amongst strangers of the night, whispering his name in the breeze, intoxicating his psyche with a tempestuous flame.
She entangled him in a perilous dance, playing a game of chance.
Their encounters were like unbridled wildfires. She captivated him, consuming his soul with her potent allure. He felt engulfed, delicate as a feather in a storm, swept away by her force.
However he was a moth enticed by a relentless flame, she incinerated his dreams and made him feel hopeless. In the end, he succumbed to the hounds of disassociated reality.
His story concluded in tragedy, leaving his loved ones cries to echo through the empty streets of a heartless city.
I will no longer mourn.
For nothing was lost.
Yes, I shed my tears with the spring rain;
The summer sun incinerated my soul;
Blood fell from my heart with marigold leaves in autumn;
Winter held me and listened to me weep.
My pain was deep like a blade thrust into my back;
It ripped my flesh open to expose me.
My lover, no longer mine,
A stranger to my touch.
Love abandoned me.
But I will no longer mourn.
For nothing was lost.
I hold on to faith.
It is my blanket and my peace.
I wrap it around my body;
I bury myself in it and feel its warmth in our empty bed.
I whisper its name beneath my breath,
And let the winds carry it to heaven.
I hold on to faith that my love will come back to me.
My dear,
I will wait,
Because nothing was lost.
We should whisper our prayers tonight
before we go to bed tonight
our souls shall slumber onto the brink of eternity
in God’s home filled with his many mansions
tomorrow morning is coming
time to plan our burial
our hollowed bones and mundane flesh
will be incinerated into a rubble of floured ashes
diffused into the bowels of the ocean’s depths
the residue of our mundane mortality left behind
on the pastures of this broken down, sinful, sadistic world
It's a marbled design, a tiny little urn where the physical parts of you were left behind. I opened it thinking it may help, but when I looked in all of my pain was deeply felt. I want to hug you, but how can I? You are just powder incinerated in a pretty urn, with a marble design.
I'm waiting on my couch listening to the lonely sounds hoping that since I have what's left of you, maybe your soul will linger down.
I'm waiting for a sign that you made it to the other side. I am waiting here like I used to do; when you were alive. My heart feels like it's not here for me. Most days I feel absolutely lonely. I try not to focus on material things, or the why nots and if only 's.
There is a place of content in which I am aiming to be. I just want to be rid of this grief that is dwelling inside of me. I'm sorry when I write it's usually sad, but what else can I do I can't fake the funk; trust me I wish I could do that.
So if you are somewhere near I hope before you go, you don't forget to visit me and touch my shoulder so I can know.
A slack jawed drunk
thugs his way toward
a down-town bar and grill.
Red lights over sizzling steaks
add flames to his eyes.
Cincinnati on a Sunday morning
trashes its streets
cold winds scatter empty plastic cups,
cigarette butts, sick spills
and the ash of incinerated dinoursours.
Once there were rattle snakes,
now high-rise
mark their once tunneled territory.
The drunk can't find the door
to the bar
he pisses himself
grins through a window
at the beer guzzling diners.
Happy hour
drags itself
through the night,
the Sabbath has to be swept up
made to walk sober,
resurrected.
FINALE
last cut of autumn
emerald smell pervades air
lawn-mower silent
LITTER
dead leaves on the ground
fine garden bonfire pending
incinerated
PATIENCE
daffodils planted
spring border waiting to bloom
yellow dreams silent
BREEZE
lively autumn breeze
blows summer quickly away
breathing pure fresh air
FLAMBOYANT
Indian summer
flamboyant shades golden glow
incomparable
DECAY
slight smell of autumn
hinting at nature's demise
garden bonfires spark
Free Clker image
I walked on the garden path,
young heart pulsating
with the cadence of love,
fostered dream of permanence
in the transient world
for being loved and possessed forever.
Times turned into an inferno,
my dreams went up in smoke,
blew away the incinerated mind,
a dislodged withered ashen leaf,
disappearing silently undiscerned,
like a drop of uncared tear.
In the ravaged desolate garden
trampling the razed flowers
in the summer of discontent,
I walked a lonely journey
with the smoldered yearning,
buried within mind’s ash debris.
That’s when searching the soul
I discovered the inner divine light,
revealing the real sense of belonging,
defined the heavenly purpose of being,
and by the grace of God I found
the devout course of life so beautiful.
__________________
January 21, 2022
Title Chosen : Up In Smoke
Contest : This Or That, Vol 9
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
A party and a baptism together?
They wouldn’t do that again... never!
Someone said, ‘Cheese is nice.’
The priest heard, ‘Jesus Christ.’
Which stuck with that poor kid forever.
7 December 2020
For Christmas Limerick contest
Sponsor Alexis Y
PS... if you hear that someone in the UK just got incinerated by a rogue lightning strike... it was nice knowing you all.
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