Abject behemoths, conniving destructive existence... Fomenting
grave hazardous intent.. Jeopardising... Knowingly... Loathsome
manipulative numbing objectionable practices... Questionably
raising substantial theoretical unsustainable visions...Weird
xenobots yielding zootoxins
In the quiet rooms where maps are breathed upon,
where borders are inked like veins across the Earth,
we speak in numbers—
not of souls, but of strain,
of harvests thinning under a swollen sky.
The arithmetic is cold,
yet it does not lie—
too many hands upon too little soil,
too many hungers circling the same fire.
Stemming what cannot be sustained,
not with the violence of sudden decree,
but with the measured hand of foresight—
a discipline of future over present desire.
For what is mercy,
if it feeds the moment
and starves the century?
The child yet unborn
flies buzzing around their crusty eyes
stands beside us in silence,
asking not for abundance,
but for balance—
for rivers that still run,
for air that has not forgotten breath.
Power must think beyond its own shadow,
must see the curve of consequence
before it bends into collapse.
This is no easy doctrine—
to weigh life against life,
to choose restraint
in a world that worships increase.
Yet history will not pardon blindness.
It will record, without trembling,
whether we governed the tide—
or were taken by it.
Bringing babies into the world just to watch them starve.
Ass-y-metric.! Or so i'm told.? Whether its war or
The economy? or congress (on hold)
Down is the latest up.' And soon up well
it won't
Be found..There just are too many
Donkeys leading, i much preffer the former
One horse towns.)
Nations, like tides, rise and fall with the numbers,
A swelling crowd is a promise and a peril.
In youth, the many are labor and armies;
In age, they are a weight upon the state.
Leaders count heads, not lives,
Calculating strength in the aggregate.
A vast populace fuels markets,
Fills the factories, swells the tax rolls.
Policy bows to the short-term reward,
Blind to the slow erosion beneath.
Food, water, shelter—finite and frail—
Are treated as inexhaustible myths.
Yet the wheel turns,
And the balance sheet of nature
Will one day collect its debt.
By then, the architects may be gone,
But their legacy will stand—
An empire too heavy to sustain.
It inflated, it vanished
and gone...no salt
not sweet...
So light it was lost
in the ethereal, and neither ,
her lightness was sustained ...
The tenuous network of fragile threads
broken..., it hoisted itself in the air...
but it fell...
Searched in the Fields
shelter and the field didn't donate...
She wanted to run away to the sea...but
couldn't swim and sank...
Being Mariana, she camouflaged herself
of submarine and went to atone
her mistakes at the bottom of the sea...
Because she doesn't believe in the real, she lost
faith in God... she went to rescue
faith in Neptune and Zeus...
to be able to continue,
dreaming of a green country...!
This is an attempt to go further than thought can contain
Something like when prince got off on purple rain
We wander these unleveled streets
Without long barreled heat
Seeking pain to meet
But taste not defeat
My stride floats without feet
Not a crawl but a creep
The second coming of Langston Hughes
Miles Davis couldnt blow these blues
Constructing unbreakable foundations using words as tools
Life in the fourth quarter and breaking all the rules
Fear not the atmospere but what lurks beyond
Resemblance of a childhood thats to far gone
Some hearts cry out when others yawn
We built this city but wont stand upon.
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