Long Sympathisers Poems

"Saddo...Saddo...",she kept calling me,
Yeah,I was sad,
So I was named Saddo,
Flowers fell from highest branches, 
Fruits fell from tall branches,
My days were full of worries and  mess,
Series of bad occurrence,
Many that laughed with me,
Same see...

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Dancing Waters
They drop like leaves
They cut themselves like Branches
They transfer their heart to their back
They paint themselves in red

The guns and boots are resurrected
They tattoo the ground with their footprints
They create a black cloud in...

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ART IS DEAD MY FRIEND
ART IS DEAD.

Whitewashed and derailed,
By modernism vacuous hand.
That scream empty metaphors.
To cash rich sympathisers

And con-ceptualists scamming our intellect,
with their o so profound egotistical postulating.
About the nature of existence,
And meaning of being.

But...

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