sole am i
meat locker are we
apeiron births god
pith distills self
self distills pith
god births apeiron
we are locker meat
i am sole
already dead am i
nihil gestates genesis
corpse digests worm
bone ensouls flesh
flesh ensouls bone
worm digests corpse
genesis gestates nihil
i am dead already
damned am i
yesterday flays tomorrow
flesh exuvial are we
pitiless is time
time is pitiless
we are exuvial flesh
tomorrow flays yesterday
i am damned
alone am i
nothing begets thought
clay invents god
dust unbegotten are we
we are unbegotten dust
god invents clay
thought begets nothing
i am alone
nihil kills nihil
Nihil Kills
he was an ironist
hardened with pitiless cruelty and crudeness
she is a sculptress
shapeless assuming his spite
you will never shrink from this breakthrough
put your enthusiasm into that schedule
sanitise the musculus
decode her ordination
to squarely vex their corruptness
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 1–5, 2026)
I need some help, I'm requesting,
That I understood, I believe
I was in this hitch of unworthiness
Because life had thrown me a switch.
The dope was nasty and pitiless
Trying to escape this world of hostility.
After what had happened that day
My most sinful fear was yet to come by play.
I wasn't being supportive when,
I thought I was living in hell
I ask our God for some direction
Because of the brick I had thrown away.
Please show me the lesson, my Lord,
That I am supposed to learn
If he hadn't answered when He did.
I should have burned.
Though I felt a hand on me,
I knew my goal was to be intense
It was all about to be rhapsodized
With this, he was of nobility.
“Life is like a ship tossed on the wide sea
to journey amidst sunshine and wild waves”.- by author.
Braving the Wild Waves
When wild winter winds bend down mighty trees
And drive many souls to knell on their knees
When flash floods sweep away all on their way
And make many men their pitiless prey,
When stormy gales hurl one`s ship on the reefs
And the crew is immersed in seas of grief
When ahead lies the mouth of a steep cliff
That sounds like the resting place of a grave
Do we yield to scare or brave the wild waves?
I go out into the bright morning,
into metaphor and the clear, autumn air,
hoping to find it, perhaps around
a corner or further down the street
where the bitumen meets
and dissolves into a panoramic
view, a portal -
but it's never there.
I listen out for it in the pause
between waves, silent places
and in the quiet lee of myself.
Sometimes when I close
my eyes I can almost hear
its presence ease softly
into a sound -
but it's never really there.
I have prayed for it to appear
in holy places, in tall forests,
running streams and deep
in the solitude of stony deserts.
I've searched for it in the stars,
in the dervish dance of galaxies
and in the smallest particle -
but it's not there.
I have sought it in suffering,
in the ecstasies of love
and in all the threads that go
together to weave a life.
I thought it would be near
when the world around me
was hurt and crying out -
but it was not there.
I go out into the cold evening,
into the dark, pitiless air
still hoping to find it just beyond
the night, a few short steps
away, through a shadow,
past a fence and the perimeter
of me, to where there is nothing -
but Being itself.
..
A ghastly cadaver drops, for whose noble sake?
To ravish the grandeur of wildlife
In the thud of night; to mangle
Mother Earth's gift and its life's intent
Where each tender beast moves in a flow
Linking a primal, fond tie with nature’s deities…
But the affinity with innocent children, its tribe
Snuffed with one ruthless bang in the forest
When pitiless minds become delirious… heinous
A giraffe, a leopard perishes without knowing
The lithe body quickly turns into a gaunt shadow,
How sudden. Just like that: unable to play with birds
And race with own calf or cubs along an inlet...
O hollow night, O lamp of silence drained
By the vicious game from predators
Lusting after power...just like that
And no one can tell, for whose noble sake?
Always to remember
Stillness, silence marks the day
Where out in the fields bodies did decay
Row upon row of entitled tombs
A baby was once in her womb
Always to remember
The sky ablaze, succumbing to smoke
Into the earth, blood did soak
Pitiless players in the night
Who would return to fly his son’s kite
Always to remember
We did fight unfanciful, all the same
The devil’s unsanctimonious game
Until the bitter bloody end
Over the trench, more troops they did send
Always to remember
Shot in a merciless way
Man upon man in a bloodbath they lay
Crows did swarm the defeated field
Neither side wanting to yield
Always to remember
Woefully but wilfully poppies worn for the respected occasion
To church for the service without much persuasion
Over the top, but with the last gunshot
The fighting did stop
Always to remember
Don't ask anything that's so improbable...
if your faith is lacking a strong foundation,
if it has doubt in folks who had a conviction:
didn't they fight to accomplish the impossible?
My question is, " Do miracles exist? "
Whenever I turn to, I sense disbelief in all;
who is ill and abandoned by a pitiless society
asks the same question of shameless betrayal;
beggars rely on generosity called handout,
they bow their heads expecting some empathy:
be moved by such suffering and denigrated sight,
harsh is their reality, heart-wrenching is their agony!
In the midst of allusion and deception ask yourself,
" Do miracles still exist? How strong is this belief? "
Stand firm, don't ever lose faith in all Humanity;
in your daily rush: slow down and redefine dignity!
It whips legs, spins minds in a tumbler.
roars with the discarded clothes
of mad clowns.
Bundles of fine bones and twirling feathers
burst apart in a random turmoil,
deer swim toward a gasping night.
A mottled land shakes its muddy ribs.
as a whittling wind hammers on.
The sky has opened a double-lidded,
dragons' eye,
a pitiless tornado is upon us,
it lands to lift and discard,
then dances with the bobbing dead.
All who dodge that swirling danger,
thank a God,
who like us, shelters in His bunker.
Portrait
This portrait of you gladdens me
It looks like you; depravity
you’d hate it, friend
it’s pitiless,
displays your foul malignity.
Your smile, well
it’s ominous
vampiric canine alias.
The painter tried to hide that smirk
to cover sleaze in fancy dress,
not all paint can cover murk.
He captured your peculiar quirk,
that nostril flare of snobbery
you were a nasty piece of work.
If tormented truth is
the taste of her fire,
injecting her blood
with poisoned rain
in golden chalices,
what is the color of
eclipsed spheres
where there’s a
desolated darkness
that dwells through
devious spirits
to rise higher?
Maybe there’s no
heaven nor hell in
the onyx fields of
soulless stars,
where obsidian roses
bloom as signs of
the devil’s immortality,
crooning doomed
hymns to the
honeycomb hues
of raven's irises,
which reflect every
bitter dream painted
in strokes of thunder.
But when dusk
bleeds seas of deception,
sins stream through
sinister shadows,
slowly pulling innocence
to a chamber of pitiless
pins and heinous knives.
So watch her ascend
as the metaphorical mistress
of death and beyond,
she is no longer your
heretic queen
that serves you light,
that once breathed
and walked through
storms of toxic typhoons
cloaked in
summer serenades,
taming every hurricane
with her crystal wings
that never tethered
to an evil king of serpents.
Stretched out on wing of weariness,
The total collapse of the flesh.
Arms and legs, limp and pitiless.
The world’s escarpments hurt..enmesh.
Come to me, says the one buried…
Who rose from the grave. Likewise grim,
With heaviness, her soul carried
To the foot of the cross…to Him.
The death bed’s a feather, so white.
Her guardian angel plucked from
her largesse…quintessence takes flight.
To heavy hearted, He says Come.
Decomposing in shallow grave,
But not so the soul…it is brave.
Muted versions of today’s date,
The silence or the standing wait,
The situation worse in tracks, albeit;
The shining smiles, wide and desolate,
The impacted, soulless sad state,
Unmuted mourns of bad fate.
The tears torn midst escapes,
From the jaws of wickedness,
The you, that struggles is:
Dead pitiless. Soulless.
All was in awe in presence,
Yours, on my day of loneliness,
Streaming in silence, the memories,
The tearless, forthwith the repercussions,
And it strode, into dreary pits bottomless.
The today, resettlements seamless,
The smears of lust midst in all emotionless,
And it strode in light, right in utmost happiness
Life’s pitiless pathetic ploy -
There is more sad than there’s of joy.
For hearty laughs and happy cheers
Here comes a penalty of tears.
I gleaned from what life got me through
To navigate between the two.
I pledged a compromising pact -
My funnybone to counteract.
These two take turns, sadness and joy -
Life’s pitiless pathetic ploy.
I can’t do both at once - thereby -
I gotta laugh so I don’t
cry.
November 20, 2022
The Emperor
hath donned a gewgaw crown,
bedazzled are the throng.
He rides an electric horse.
Strides through the pitiless cities
of lost or last hopes.
His faceless glance
not even a mask,
but a cold premonition
an iron mind
behind bolt-shut eyes.
The crowds back away,
bow and know
they are now subjects,
not even slaves,
only subjects
to be used and disposed of
at the ballot box.
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