American wasteland.
It’s a party you’re invited to.
Plan on unstable conditions.
We put incompetence before security,
and disguise your losses as little things.
The corruption's open, unmistakable and court approved.
We’ve undone the shackles of constitutional checks,
and we’re steadily enlarging our jurisdictions.
Independence will be costly, but dependence is invoiced too.
We’ll watch the social thesis melt, as resources dwindle,
and everything becomes more expensive.
If you’re still uncertain of the issues,
you may have the ears of an ass.
You’re all-in whether you know it or not,
and the canaries have stopped chirping.
Is democracy still a plausible success story?
.
.
A song for this:
The Adults Are Talking by Mila Smith [E]
act like you know (feat. Muni Long) by Master Peace [E]
And so we wait.
As time stands still
we hold our breath and wait.
The rising of the sun,
the disappearing of the moon,
life goes on as we wait.
The pendulum in motion.
Time passing that we will never see again
yet still we wait.
We let time run through our fingers
as if we didn’t know its value.
Like watching money burn.
Sometimes it’s the thing to do
but… soon enough comes the day
we recognize our folly.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
And so we wait.
As time stands still
we hold our breath and wait.
The rising of the sun,
the disappearing of the moon,
life goes on as we wait.
The pendulum in motion.
Time passing that we will never see again
yet still we wait.
We let time run through our fingers
as if we didn’t know its value.
Like watching money burn.
Sometimes it’s the thing to do
but… soon enough comes the day
we recognize our folly.
Pontificating
words
of insignificance
and drought
Writing about
those things
no one
ever cares about
Eulogizing
abandoned
corners
where the lettered never go
A prisoner
of redundance
in a wasteland
— ill disposed
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
Horses galloping
in the barren country
long scorched
by conflagrations.
Carbonised bracken
and naked trees cry
gnarled in bewitchment
of incantations concocted
around smoky cauldrons
broiling with the fury
of serpent fangs
and necrotic poisons
that consume
the golden hour
Heaven's artistry in motion.
Inherited
severance
The saddest
probate
A wasteland
of love
A garden
of hate
A dark
segregation
Divorced
in our bane
To separately
covet
What little
— remains
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
My heart is a wasteland
Consuming all it holds
Lamenting, egregious, divine mine devours
Begging for flowers, bloom ensnared
in the midst of barren hands
My heart is a wasteland
Waiting for rainfall
over dry bones
A cold moonshine
illuminates desolate ruins—
what once led prosperity
My heart is a wasteland
Burning eternal flame
set ablaze by passerbys
Athirst for lush splendor
that once sheathed protection
How much more can one withstand
My heart is a wasteland!
All the love I have to give
dissolves into my pores,
crushing my bones
My heart is a wasteland
There once was a witch from a wasteland
Who had a poisoned mouth and hand
Whatever she touched
Turned into rust or to dust
Her breath made everything sand
It is the world of Shiva and Shaitan
It is the world of Krishna and Kant
Devi on Nandi holding Demon and Son
Devotees, Deities, Ash, Claps and Fun
Fragile girl carrying child in her arm's
Not mother but a sister’s virgin palms
To Die for him but not a bruise to touch
Just Bottom pinching nothing too much
Anguish in her arms to shut the door
Hammer or Paedo, they break the core
Unreal city under brown fog of cold dawn
Slogans, Sighs where savage zombie born
Cow with a nose grip lost her way
Is she mute or has nothing to say?
Another one eating her own skin
Is there Anyone left? kith or a kin
Her body is torn open with the blood
No milk, No Calf. Here screams flood.
The outside is where I belong
The inside so filmiar
A constant stride to belong
To fit the mold of what a man should be
Weak I am cancered by self denial
When will it end for me
Alone I be
What a disappointment
A shaded comparison of where I started
I seek something
But back away
When it gets hard I blame all but me
I am the cause of no resolution in my dimise
It's hard to see past all the flaws when they seem to out weigh the successes
Torn apart from it all
Just dwell in the peices of insecurities
What have I become
Lost in the shallow of a hollow man
In a world built in expectations I fall flat everytime
What is the reason for this prison
It's all in the past part of my present
When will this future become bright
When all around this body is a dark mass
Haunted visions ghosts of remembrance
This is how my life develops
Within the carnage of love and hate I collide
Still beaten and battered but whos throwing the punches
Me a lesser verison of myself
Where do I go
Where do a belong
In the wasteland of failure for all to flourish except me.
The land lies silent
Beneath the icy embrace
Trees stand still, statues
Whisper of life now dormant
Yet hope lingers in the cold
The pendulum swings wider
both right and then left
Those things that divide us
fomenting unrest
The wasteland between
what was once common ground
A minefield of mutual exclusion
— profound
(The New Room November, 2024)
Behind a screen, they hid their faces…
Cruelty unleashed, leaving internal damage,
They sneered as she crumbled, a spectacle for them,
Their laughter echoed, as her world began to fall.
Anonymously, they hid behind the pixels,
A poison ring, horrifying scene indeed.
“She deserved it, I hope she’s dead”
Are we not allowed to make mistakes?
Her soul, once vibrant, now withered and gray,
Consumed by the darkness, fading into oblivion.
The bottomless pit, a soul-slaughtering house,
Where werewolves wandered, devouring her innocence.
Their words, like arsenic slowly dissolving inside her,
An unending torture, deep wounds left bare.
In the virtual white room, her cries ignored,
Nonstop nightmares, her fate slowly being written.
The poor girl withered, an angel losing her wings,
As the darkness smothered her, sealing her tomb.
Their barbarism, a barrage of bullets fired,
Unleashed on a soul, a life they did end.
Their cowardice exposed, a truth they can't defend.
In the depths of hell, judgement awaits,
A punishment for their actions, forever burning.
The righteous
may struggle
the righteous may fall
But Hell
only exists
— in a place without love
(1st Book Of Prayers: April, 2024)
Excise Exercise 2:
In a wasteland
decision is a choice.
Faced with Life or Death
makes progress clear-
What are the options?
Face the Fear of both.
One brutal truth.
Find love's survival hope.
Cut off black poison.
Amputate the hate
that cast love out of reach.
Gangrene was never the colour of Peace...
In a wasteland,
Green is the colour of Relief.
Nestled in undulating dunes,
crystal clear the clarity that dispels
myth's mirage shimmy shake
Faith is a caravan-
Tuareg Blue and White.
Waiting out duststorms.
Burnt Umber.
Brief.
Aqua M Pen Umbra Poetry.
27 January 2024.
Choose to live.
127 hours. A story of survival.
"To err is human."
To err is to miss the point.
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