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It was how important
you wanted for this to be,
how enormous
you wanted the wounds_
dented flesh, drawing blood,
horrific screams, calling pain,
quiet wimps, pleading for help .
It is how even after these years
you now wish for a guide.
But to where and from what start?
When reluctantly, you
pleaded for this calm to go,
you did not want peace.
At least not then.
It was the chaos you craved for,
the stampede,
the many to fall,
And see,
It was as you wanted it to be.

You played the hero,
neglected a few broken troops.
You wished for the voice over
the radio,
the collected voice
to say this whole affair was over,
that's it had been a hoax,
that those who fell,
did so for nothing,
that the visible bones were
in vain, the hunger,
we bore,
that the children with their
large eyes could
close them,
sleep soundly and belge
after their dinners.
That we should not have bothered
fixing things we knew could not be fixed.
Divisions we created
and magnitudes of tribes,
chants we all longed to hum
and dances for the slow repair
of our souls,
that which we lost,
or never even had.
It was as you wanted it to be.

Why give up now?
Why now?
Why not at the beginning?
Why make us accept this was
our fate?
Why puncture the little we
believed in?

Now you throw us to the dust,
kicking our butts like dogs
with your boots.
It is as you always wanted it to be.

I bet I know
deep down,
inside of you,
it is not as you wanted it.

You leave us all confused
running around words in circles,
until they get smaller
swallowing us with them.
Making a joke out of what we
lived for,
what our sons and brothers died for,
what our sisters cried for.
we accept this_
this nonsense we have not come
to understand,
we accept this strange peace,
expecting the worse to come,
knowing the worse is near,
This time, ready.

It is you we pity,
for you had the power,
but misused it.
You toyed with the
large millions of us
till you checked up.
you will be a god
without a believer,
you will live among us,
we will come for you,
in our numbers,
we will make you pay
for the wasted years of
our lives.
We will soil your soul
like you did our's_
leaving it
in black and white.

Leaving your soul
in unattended pieces.


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need balance

there's some beauty in darkness:
something interesting about
the way the air would heavily light
an irony of perfect juxtaposition. there's some beauty in ugly:
something intriguing about the
huge grotesque scars that
seem to never want to go away. there's some beauty in evil:
un peu de la purité in
the heart of a condemned man,
an innocence buried beneath a blanket of
bottled up emotions. these little beauties we
choose to neglect
aren't they the very things that
make living bearable? who would be good without the existence
of evil?
who would be beautiful without ugliness?
or what story could ever be told without scars? need beauty and ugliness,
need scars and healing oils,
need good and evil,
need all the balance to remain
steady and sane in this
crazy crazy world. need balance:
then imbalance to
balance the human equation
now and again.