Shattering dreams
These days, my heart is pierced
again and again.
Each time I open the news,
my soul bleeds dry.
Lies upon lies—
royal deception turned to mafia rule,
fabrication draped in allure,
fornication paraded as freedom.
The masses feast on the spectacle,
while bombs fall—
front yard, back yard—
severing my last connection,
the pulse that kept me alive.
Gone in a flash.
Champions of war machines,
leaders of destruction,
stand at the forefront,
leading the most deceitful.
Alas, my heart no longer aches.
Numbness swallows my being.
Brothers-in-arms fall,
one after another,
leaving only silence in their wake.
Birdsong is no more.
Now, only flying machines hover,
prowling like beasts.
A plant I nurtured for 470 days
withered, thirsty,
while scavengers picked at its remains,
stuffing their loot into darkness.
Alas! I witness the puppets' dance—
a chorus of filth,
saliva mixed with piss
to carve a hollow pit.
The so-called civilized
turn oaths into mockeries,
shattering dreams
once shaped for you and me.
But I am no fool.
I will not bow.
I am no guinea pig,
trained to sing their tune,
nor a slave, licking their boots.
My spirit is unbroken,
crawling through rubble,
soaring beyond wreckage,
whispering to the universe of a dawn.
Like Moses before Pharaoh,
I step forward,
calling deception to duel.
Crumbling machines, your deathbed awaits.
We shall see, soon enough,
who truly rules this world—
a conjurer or a vanguard?
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