Eve and day they meandered,
With no gist but guns and grudge,
Faces of cold blood wandered,
Determined to push, pull, and nudge.
Extraction made easy, they proclaimed,
For this land shall be ours in no time,
For that we shall not be judged nor blamed,
And the natives shall give up every dime.
Factions wandered, stole and murdered,
Innocents escaped and others warred,
‘Til this day the former is not burdened,
And ‘til it the latter has been barred.
Justice was forsaken, and for no risks,
It remains a token for those seated
On leather chairs behind mahogany desks,
Justice remains in the ether; cheated.
Nor the factions shall prolong or remain,
Nor the justice shall be in disdain.
Love Me Not
Sharper than ever he was.
An Ode to Gray
Left and neglected, it sits like a mistake.
For winds that blow in trilling manners
of such a people
to claim things as their own
and disparage all.
the sheer impiety
and the ignorant minds
for which history books testify
mark the beginning of the end.
Born, unwillingly, into a life not their own.
On the balcony and cast
Your sight upon
The gleaming stars?
On a dark, chilly night, of course.
That’s when I promised myself
That I will change my life.
But I didn’t.
And it’s all because of you.
You act like you care
But you don’t.
You think I need you in my life
When it’s you who needs me.
You marginalize me over and over
And make me an outsider.
I had enough.
I’ve always had enough of it, but I didn’t show you
The painful feeling of subordination, of negligence.
Today I really had enough. I must stop you
Before you assign yourself as God and judge me.
And maybe you’ve done even that,
In your daydreams, in your vast imagination.
It was that night.
When I asked you about the lit stars.
‘Will they ever become dark?’
And you looked into my eyes, yours as shiny as mine,
And smiled to the question you couldn’t answer but tried.
‘I’m sure they won’t.’
And I never thought I should question your answers.
But I do.
Because today all the stars in the sky have gone dark.
Darker than the night sky.
And you’ve gone dark too.
I don’t know you anymore.
And thinking of it tires me, makes me feel that I didn’t know you at all.
I remember one day you told me,
‘There is an end to everything.’
And this is the end to us.
The artist is putting on a show
Rights & Favors
Justice was forsaken,
And mightiness was reduced
To one single declaration.
Those who don’t have
Gave those who don’t deserve
The rights and validity.
Excited they were,
Like a lost people who found home
To take “home” from others.
Off they went,
Having returned home
To claim what is supposedly theirs
Lives lost, rights evoked,
Favors given to pivot
Insolent Brit and ignorant Franco,
Met on two fronts and conspired
To demolish hope
Back home, an old farmer’s dream
Was to bring food home
To his hungry children
Careless and indifferent
About toxic politics
And poetic statements
About fancy terms
And foreign names
He couldn’t pronounce
Rights were forgotten
And new laws were premade
To usurp lands and dreams
The Middle East was,
In all perspectives,
A playground for B and F
So they could become BFFs,
Steal Mosul oil,
And dissect lands with a ruler
The B was Sykes,
The F was Picot
The last F is a forever failure
Two peace-loving men
Brought peace and prosperity
To people who never asked
Uncle Sam joined the race,
Confident with his preach material
His black cape hiding so much
To contain in a poem.
By the mist of night
And the forsaken light
By the dim of Poe
And its musing beau
By the littered promise
And its utter deplorables
By the ignited flames
And the patron games
Upon them it shall be decreed
That no one is good enough to breed
A slate of ruthless crudes
A convoy of insolent lunes
Amid nights of dreary beams
In shafts of glorious reams
Indispensable and antique
Slaughter and murder at peak
To speak in flavorless terms
Was the way in these realms
And to bargain and dispute
Was the way for which to root
By the asylum and the diaspora
And the lands of misty Ankara
By the ignorance of the fist
And the fowls in their nest
By the lands of sacred mold
And the dome of ancient gold
By the light colorless scarf
And those idling by the wharf
No name but lunacy
A nation with no euphony
A people without culture
No legacy but to rupture
Observe the kid with the stone,
Or that senior with the cane,
Or the journalist with the phone,
Or the little girl under the rain.
Observe with your tactical scope,
The power and the impower.
Observe but don’t approach the slope.
They shall approach and cower.
“Kill, kill,” his innocent eyes shouted,
As if they spoke the same lingo.
What should be done was rerouted,
And the soldier yelled “Bingo!”
Observe the mourning house,
And the birds silent and still,
And the kid’s pale blouse,
Drenched in blood downhill.
Observe the kid with the stone,
How it drops down and fades,
How the terrorist becomes known,
And commence thus the house raids.
"At the heart of every chaos, there is stillness and tranquility, and at the heart of every quiet, there is war and turmoil."
"At times, principles are worth a lot more than lives."
“Politics and literature are inseparable, for the former is conveyed through the latter. Without it, the world is a blank canvas.”
- Liam Grossman, Deadly Sand
“The truth is burdensome when you’re knee-deep in the lie which you have fashioned.”
- Andrew Wilson, The Greatest Speech