“Flowers”, 05/01/16


Vigorous jasmine, elegant lily and intoxicating rose

Just pictures on the wall, or gifts for a girl

They would be misshapen and rupture in his hands

He would rip dark green leaves from climbed trees

Snap all kinds of branches on the ground

All blooms seemed irrelevant, to this 12 year old boy

But then grandmother, not so long ago said

“When we age, flowers grow in beauty”

Now, even while playing football, he smiles,

At all the gifts of Spring


“Space”, 04/30/16


It’s just an endless orbit going round, above the sky but below the gods

Such a contrast to behold: a baby blue earth, against a colossal, empty space

Severe inhospitality waits patiently outside my Soyuz hatch, but I feel nothing but reverence

This all may be free from destiny, but my heart and mind are overcome with rapture

“Disease”, 04/23/16


Love is a disease, that truly has no cure

Even when excised, it leaves lingering symptoms

Like inflammation of the heart, fever and melancholia

It’s parasitical effects still feed on the flesh, bones and mind

No humour can alleviate it; it even strengthens black bile

Only a journey through thyself will ease the spirit


“Rats”, 04/19/16


All light died in the old, yellow house that night

The rats, they fed, and their hiss filled the void

It’s not a question of why, but how they ate the boy:

Through nibbling, gnawing and scratching every inch


He had fled, fearing the monster chasing him would catch him

He had hid, because he didn’t want to be thrown against the wall again

But the rodents didn’t care, and they devoured him anyway


“Reap”, 04/17/16


Blood splashed over Mallory’s face,

In the middle of the night

The moon acted as a pale spotlight,

For his ghastly actions


The sky and lands were calm,

with a soft wind blowing through the fields of grass

But his veins ran true with passion,

With a hatred he nursed―from deep down

His blood boiled, and his eyes screamed

Waking coldly each night into real-life, poisoned dreams


And then there was this other man, Gethen: a figure to despise

He severed his own children from his home and their lives,

And beheaded all his harem; his so-called “wives”


Such was the scum that infected the plains”,

Such was the villainy that had to be slain

Or so “Mallory” would later claim


But the enacting of “justice”, by him swinging his scythe

He cut down this small darkness, he put everything “right”

Through ending Gethen’s petty reign, he began his very own

The villagers all knew it, and the deed chilled their bones


It’s a grim, old practice, that of taking a life

So too is the hope, that might makes it right

For virtue is trampled, underneath the decay

Of what he once was, of the two he killed that day:

Gethen the Plague, and Mallory the Wise

Both men had suffered, and both men had died

Only a shell of the latter remained,

Because blood taken for blood,

Is only the Wicked’s gain


While it’s all terribly trite, it’s also quite true:

Monsters aren’t fictional, they’re me and they’re you

And evil once cut down is evil twice increased:

There’s the deed that is done, and the resentment that breeds


Consider this old preacher’s sermon, consider the tale

It’s a bleak, straightforward lesson―the memory is frail

So I’ll put all this simply, while you’re still at my pew:

One reaps what they sow, and they are what they do


“Eulogy”, 04/11/16


Rebecca transgressed very often

Committing lively, impure acts

But with her pale and cold flesh, she was fit for a coffin

And despite the girl’s thrills, she regretted her pact


She soaked her sins in chaste talk and attars

Submitting to baptism may have cleansed her

God always knows a ratter

Two coins clink nearby, and her world reeks of myrrh


She once raged full-speed inside her young head

But outside, she spoke only in whispers

Always is forever, and now her dreams are all dead

Now her visage is fixed, and she’ll sink through the fissure


She hid her cruelty cleverly, and stashed away her vice

Her clever tongue was so sharp, it pierced like a knife

Knew her deeds were cloaked, and that she’d paid the price

But before the trial started, she ended her life


“Volcano”, 04/07/16


The air is arid, and the earth is brown,

like finely crushed stale coffee beans.

The strong smell of sulfuric acid is all around,

And I mount a large, dead hill.

As I plant my feet onto the dried-up hate

My footing slips, and fall deep down.

Once the coughing stops, and the dust dissipates

It’s clear to me there’s nothing to hold onto here

So I find my strength, and raise myself up

Through irritated eyes, my vision is clear:

My out is through the sharp, gangly trees,

Through an unfriendly terrain, I find my way

The sky is bright, but my body may freeze

If I linger in this wasteland for too long.


“Ethics”, 04/07/16


Terror, sheer terror; some like it raw

Such a strange assertion, but their pain is the law

One such person, I once knew quite well

Their fate was determined, their soul set to sell

Hate filled their heart, poison seeped through their veins

Such dry withered hopes, such agonizing strains

This dark wave of sadness, this icy disease

The fever infects so many, yet we still have friends like these

They hack and they hack, until they are hollow

Coughing up their cash, finding someone to follow

Whatever you do, you must find the cure

“Save” this drowning man, and you’ll both sink for sure