A Parallax of Thoughts

A Parallax of Thoughts

O Butterfly, flap not your wings in Africa!
Each time you do a violent storm rips me apart,
though my love is not like the madness of oil’s price,
moved up and down by the pride of Caligula
and nor am I the Emperor, O silent Sky!
    

I was not born a thousand years ago, neither
would I live to see a thousand Springs come and go.
I wonder, had Nero known he would soon be dead,
would he still be playing on! Perhaps now we shall know
from the man with a caterpillar on his head!
   

But the Sky remains mostly as silent as God
and everywhere the mob drowns all innocence.
Despite the loud thunders, raindrops fall on the sea.
I smell the desert wind then a storm rips through me!

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A Petition To Posterity

A Petition To Posterity

We live in a strange time,
when pigs are more obscene than mass murder and rape,
when cows are more precious than human life,
when the fire of compassion and nirvana burns
all the different ones alive!
    

Perhaps the world is worshiping one God at last,
after toiling and shedding both our sweat and blood
for more than thirteen thousand years,
a God that ought to thrive on spreading fear
about people on the other side!
     

Perhaps the posterity will
charge our dead bones one day and justly too,
for atrocities against humankind,
in the name of a God painted more like a scorned shrew!

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