When the bouganvilla stops blooming its time
If you can’t stand a good religious rant
get the fuck off my page and join
bible-thumpers anonymous; I’m
not just talking about the Christian Book
of dogma and apostolic revision, give
me an eagle’s feather, free me from the
object of your persecution, your procession
is a historical list of hate after hate.
If you believe in a Supreme Being that will come
down from the clouds in a blazing chariot with fire
in his eyes, if you believe he’ll materialize
from another dimension to a man with waves in his sandy hair
and piercing blue eyes to be nailed in the hands for your sins,
Or If you believe in a Supreme Being that will come
down from the clouds in a blazing chariot with fire
in his eyes, if you believe he’ll materialize
from another dimension to a Golden Calf
only to destroy anyone who has been living on your promised land,
just listen to yourself think.
This world is just plain fucked up, and if we don’t do
something together soon, get rid of the all the Gods we have
created and misread throughout the ages, bear our own
fruits now, before it’s too late,
deal with the likelihood
there’s no pearly gates guarded by seventy-two virgins
for the ultimate fucking pleasure, no hell fires
below beckoning with a crooked smirk and goat’s feet and no promised land to live in
If life isn’t sacred now, what could any afterlife
or before life actually mean? And to whom? Why would
the soul keep coming back to make more promises it has
no intentions of keeping?
There’s nothing but the apples of an honest smile in every
child’s face, no matter the race, colour or ancestry,
sex or limitation. There is no creative design if it lacks
social integration. It’s not about location location location,
the earth is just a blue dot between nowhere and here in the
cosmic scheme of things.
Come and watch the sunset from wherever you are,
for we all die and we die alone only to live forever
in the hell or the heaven that we have created on our own.
If there is waiting to be done for a new birth,
the placenta has already died.
Anna. R & HSK aka darya
PS… A collaborative work of a poet friend of mine and me
( Middle East Peace forum )
