Answers

Answers

My reply didn’t even answer your question

You were already running

At the ensuing uncertainty

Of the situation,

Desperately afraid of unfamiliar territory

 

Yet you talk about honesty

Like it’s the stuff life is made of…

Like it’s the stuff you’re made of

And it’s not even enough as it is, in your life.

 

All talk.

At least practice what you preach

 

You talk about honesty

But still want me

To tell you

What you want to hear

 

You talk about honesty

But you’re living a lie

And this lie has become your truth

So yourself you can soothe

While the TRUTH you are so afraid to confront

Remains in ambiguity

Much to your comfort

 

So how am I to be honest with you,

When you’re not even honest with yourself?

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democrazy

brainwash with moving portraits

appearing holier than thou

but actually foes pretending to be friends

wolves in sheep skin

Demons in angelic form

manipulating those in uniform

stop at nothing to have their way

Silencing others so they can have their say

malicious misinformation

deliberate disinformation

half truths and complete lies

looking good from far

far from looking good

using their power for their own sake

spitting fire and brimstone

leaving death and destruction in their wake

democracy with an iron fist

 

CHEMOREI

Too many insinuations
Too many questions
Too many blank stares,
Not enough answers..

Kings were not amused
Having their authority put to the test
So they had to abuse
To put this matter to rest

Other subjects had to be kept in the dark
That wouldn’t be too much work
They were told and they believed,
Because they all wanted to live.

That was the jungle’s law
But it was to him unacceptable

He was determined to expose their flaws.
They offered him a place at the high table,
No, he would not be a character in this fable
He was getting closer to the truth
So they went to the phone booth
And sent a threat.
That would not stop him,
With his life he had made a bet.

What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger
His significant other was worried
I need some time, just a little bit longer
But he was the prey and they the predators
A fact he had forgotten.
Drastic measures were taken,
They could not fail again

He took the truth to the other side,
Betrayed by a brother in arms
But it was necessary for their pride
And to protect the BRIDE
To have the thorn removed,
The consignment approved

RIP.

It Came With The Wind

Kihüruto,  They called it.  “That which comes with the wind.”

It came with the winds from the south, and the locals had since learnt to discern the eerie howls and the characteristic dry winds that accompanied it.  The trees also seemed to acknowledge the arrival, shedding their leaves whenever the winds began, even during the wet season. To the chicken the winds probably reeked of death, the way they panicked when the ghostly gusts that signaled the arrival blew, but I guess we’ll never know. A local tale told of the demon that came with the winds, that could only be seen by chicken. And woe unto the fowl that had the unfortunate luck of sighting the foul fiend. It was not without consequence, and a deadly one at that.

The locals knew it was futile to lock the chicken up. “How do you hide from what you cannot see? How do you hide from the wind?”, they would ask in despair. They had seen enough of this situation to know how it would play out. The wake of destruction left behind. Some were already making preparations to get new chicken from the villages that were lucky enough to escape Kihüruto. The village elder who lived downhill could be heard cussing loudly; he owned the largest flock in the village, and by morning it would be all gone.

The chicken stopped running, a reluctant acceptance of their fate, it seemed. Just like the last time. A cacophony of clucks filled the air, like a desperate prayer to be spared from the demon; all in vain. All this while the fiendish howls of the winds continued, unperturbed,  a fitting background to the show about to take place. Then one by one, their feathers started  falling off. The lucky ones died first, and the smell of dead fowl rent the air. The ones which didn’t die would experience the anguish that came with surviving the “first wave”. They remained still, standing, unable to move, caught in the grip of death as their bodies slowly succumbed. First it was the eyes, losing their sight, a dear price to pay for seeing the demon. Then the beaks fell off, slowly, the chicken with no option but to endure the agony.

Finally the bowels gave way, and the legs broke, dead inside, no longer able to support the weight of the now lifeless birds. And with a last-gasp gust, the winds departed, leaving behind a legacy of death. Kihüruto had passed. An uncomfortable silence ensued. A tension so thick it was suffocating. Most had experienced it before, but they could never get used to it. The locals set out to burn the carcasses, otherwise they would stink for seven days straight, and no meat-eater would touch them. Like they knew it was cursed.

Repeat After Me: I am Free

Repeat After Me: I am Free

So recently started my attachment/internship., and observation of events around the workplace got me thinking about institutionalization and the matrix, which inspired this piece.

 

Red pill or blue pill?

You are at the mid-point, in limbo.

One puts you back to sleep

One wakes you up

you see all the tools employed

All the illusions destroyed

And you realize your insanity

In a world whose sanity

Is banked on vanity

And your everyday life

Is you living a lie

Freedom is not what

You think it is

You are a modern-day slave

Who would rather enjoy being chained

Than break the chains

And face the uncertainty

Of a free life