Short Infidel Poems

Long lost piece of heart,
Under his eyes I carved my world,
His eyes have got their destined one,
Infidel heart does not understand....

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Religion
the bullet
that loads 
in your gun

Projecting
its damage
belief
zero-sum

Exclusion
delusion
its sights
center mass

To kill
nonbelievers
 the infidel
class

(The New Room: December, 2023)
...

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Crazy infidel
A mad obscene man
Beat echo
Never again
Please never again
Lips like honey suckle
Safety no more
Electronic madness
Bushy long hair
Walking in Chicago
A mad headache
Drowned
Tipsy
Out of your brain
Bang Bang Bang
Never more...

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Infidel fish arrive,
shoals of blank-eyed eaters swim in circles,
each time the head turns toward Mecca
they nudge it in another direction.

Sea-bugs emerge,
dyspeptic crustaceans as small as fleas,
fastidious eaters
that consume only hate.

Above the waves a ship sails away,
having buried again
the evidence of hells D.N.A....

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They Are the Infidel

On the menu was not meant to be;
What a horrible thing some did see;
To be a great meal they would serve;
Those terrorists have quite a nerve.

Here we are weeping with much grief;
While they were following their belief;
Each one them will end up on hell;
It is they not us who are the infidel.

Jim Horn...

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YOU   DON’T  BELIEVE  IN  LOVE?

No,  no,  I take leave
To refuse to disbelieve !
Shriek out in protest at the infidel :
If no true love exists
Life is bleak subsistence!

Speak out! A soul hungers for communion,
Not a  lone freak peregrination, alone
Down  cold clay-heavy steps
In a black tunnel to drown
In  a dead end in the ground....

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From the Womb of Mother 
To Arms of Beloved

From Cradle of Love 
To Loneliness of Grave

From vast Baron Lands 
To Sky-rise Cities of metal

From Frail of Toddler 
To Valiancy of Maturity

From Gore of Barbarism 
To Refinement of Civilization

From the Saints of Divinity
To Leaders of Power

From Infidel of Darkness 
To Beloved of God    

...
musafirs...

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cross it
my heart with my fist 
to a country spirit long forgotten
wrapped around the wrist
of some infidel
American scum
but the truth of the matter is 
they wanna go home
troops that come home
to shoes thrown at their face
its like a long spent nightmare
but real life is all they see
baby killer my bottom
taking orders has its flaws
they do what their told
not what they want
so dont blame ameri-troops
cuz it really isnt them...

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Dear god,
         this is my tithe
         proceeds from the killing of my neighbors
         i hate them with passions
         but i love thee with passions
         i shall kill more for thee
         if only you will teach me more of your religion
         he mocked my religion
         or,
         will thou stand afar off
          and watch that infidel for mocking thee?
         
                                           from your son....

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I am incapable of experiencing anger, fear or sadness
Without constantly thinking about judgement
I just want to destroy all that paves my way 
Without worrying about trouble with the law
I just want to piss my pants thinking about the future
Without being called an anxious neurotic 
I just want to be able to shed a single tear 
Without being seen as less of a man
Why on Earth would God give us these feelings
And call us infidel for exploring it?...

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Sadness was invading my wounds. Again
I will dip my fingers in bleeding heart
to write a new poem.

A scythe cuts a cloud
that it was not. I reel under
the unexpected rain of wards.

You go up on top ladder
to jump in the hot cauldron,
no pain to drown in bones.

What was the meaning of living
with death daily and still smiling?
A candle makes a hole in your palm!

The brain has an infidel tumor;
if fails to grow and erase you.
You are absent to your being.
 

SATISH VERMA...

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Like wrappers on a carnival street,
So bodies litter Bama Town;
As time deflates these body balloons,
Flies gyrate in their flowing fluid.

Above them wafting their flag
That shred them like potato chips
And mindful of why? And why?
‘‘Infidel must die’’, they post.

Then comes afar a zombie voice,
A retreat voice from Cameroon:
''Blame us not mother land;
If only we had airport armoured cars.''

Seek not Bama in map tomorrow,
Vorbei ist vorbei,gone is Babylon....

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Sadness was invading my wounds. Again
I will dip my fingers in bleeding heart
to write a new poem.

A scythe cuts a cloud
that it was not. I reel under
the unexpected rain of wards.

You go up on top ladder
to jump in the hot cauldron,
no pain to drown in bones.

What was the meaning of living
with death daily and still smiling?
A candle makes a hole in your palm!

The brain has an infidel tumor;
if fails to grow and erase you.
You are absent to your being.
 

SATISH VERMA...

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