Even gods laugh

I awake to a clear blue sky, 
every morning 
The tropical forest

A green canopy  of small hills, 
with patches of rusty iron sheets, 
The local natives

When the ancient man left the caves, 
the hunt with the hounds, 
the stones and the hides,

to the jets in the skies, 
the heavy smoke in the streets
burning fossils and minerals, 
he should have loved the music

dance your way to the moon

The groove of the moving earth, 
the roar of a hurricane, 
and the bubbling of molten rock

the perceptions of faith

“This is a punishment from the gods”
“disown my blood for deviations”
“infidelity or atheism?”

The world loves a good story
Mr. President loves a good camera, 
a red tie and shiny motorcade

My mom enjoys a silent morning, 
no sirens, 
or chemo

I guess she must pay tribute
To the ancient man or the gods?

That the present paves the future, 
to the moon or the grave?

I love the sound of my key tabs
Tap the glass screen, 
scroll the immoral

The truths and the facts

His Excellencyis black,
that’s a fact

He is an international hero, 
thats a truth

The truth? 
That African leaders dream our countries away?

No! 
African leaders dream the world away!

The fact? 
World leaders are dreaming the world away

So I awake to a crimson sky
It is World War IV
Man and his nukes

The ancient man speaks to the gods, 
“I did my job right.”
“I defeated my greatest invention.”
“Civilisation.”

And the gods reply, 
“you sure did take your time!”
“Hahaha!”
“One hell of a mistake creating you! “

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Even a RAT dines

Whites castles and silver plates
Melts scented candles 
The light from bronze chandeliers

If these walls can shrink,
The heavy air within
Fills my lungs with lays of dust particles

The old wine tastes dull 
Must be these faces around the table 
Filthy and expensive

The rugs that blur their nudity
But not their souls

Void and dark

Their selfish hearts and smirks
Decays meat in their teeth 
From a last kill you fouled hyenas

The blood,
Mild, 
And no decency

Smiley hogs
Their grunts known to the sun 
The wind must have come with aplague

The winter streets
Frozen and dead
Cries a Raven on a broken cart

Even a rat dines, 
On marrow of a dead king
Should the sky turn grey

Black gold

Petals of sin
A cold breath from his soul
Frozen,
The fountain of tears

A line of ethics,
Between church and man
Is the truth a mystery?
Or a divine canvas?

Stretching the skies,
That the light sunburn what he sees,
Given time and place,
The shadows of the moon

A party TV of a painting,
Prejudice or nothing,
Pulling to oneself,
The plague of propaganda

Giving gins to the church,
To let a child live death
The reality of a cynical world,
Lost in the fumes of the black gold

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The tale of men

The later called the first,
“early men”
When the future settled on the moon,
And the sky was a city

The divine incarnated,
And the earthlings become,
Angels and demons
Waving swords and shields

They soaked the dust with blood
And with each sun
Sparked a fire,
On the snowy mountain

The low man laid in a rubble
And the celestial dined on the stars
Watching fireworks on a New Year’s
Drunk on wine by their cushions

This they called,
“civilisation,”
And “modernisation,”
Was it?

And I a robot,
In this dump on Saturn,
That watched it all,
Before, I was just junked

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Love and war

Whispers of their breath
echoes of ecstasies
the rose was a virgin,
the nectar was strong
So the ant searched her petals,
at the fall of the first light

Her fragrance filled the garden,
the dancing leaves of an olive
against the wind,
riding on a dragon’s back,
breathing in and out,
the flames of their hearts

Guns and roses
blood and tears
to the bone we bled
Bonnie and Clyde
and in oblivion we merged
as, Romeo and Juliet

All is fair in love and war

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Monsters and men

Of monsters and men
oaths taken upon steel
their scarlet edges
to never dry on a winter night

Brothers and foe
knights on horses
their shining armour
riding to meet blades of death

Bows and arrows
the silent assassins
raining in from above
the ultimate test of good luck

Heroes and villains
if legends live,
as stories on mountain rocks
then castles shall ruin

And the damned shall live
within their walls
their tears and blood
all for nothing

history can’t love,
then sure it can hate
the monster
that made the man

So we both,
Live on

Broken island

Cold and lone,
In company of squawking trees,
And resonating echoes of blood shed

Spilled on dark soils
And run to earth’s depth,
By the falling rains of desolation

Wiping, gently, my tearless eyes,
The fountains of sorrow
But now dry deserts of depression

Hanging onto the red moon,
Like it was then on the first night of this dreadfulness

It was the battle of the lords,
The war of angels and demons,

Pitched screams,
Reached beyond where eyes could reach

Sounds of clashing steel,
A million horseshoes rumbling below

Shiny armours of iron vests
Reflecting the flames of burning hats

And silhouettes of slain brothers,
Scythed to rise with the dark smoke

My fingers shivered,
Still holding the hilt of my blooded sword,

As I watched endlessly,
At the sestructive power of fury

For glory and honor,
Gold and power,

In the name of history,
Tearing apart walls of a long known generation

That above their soulless skulls
An iron throne shall sit

And names of fallen knights,
Engraved in the floor, in the hall of justice

So I ask now,  like I did then,
Where is justice in shedding of innocent blood?

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