A poem I wrote on a noisy day. I wish to perform it one day.
Every/day, manic attack from the panic in Iraq, killing manufactured by the world’s poorest to kill the global poor, a non-stop world tour, satisfying an unstoppable appetite, racism, greed with tons of fucking dynamite, ready to be used, millions abused, and life is something that you lose, and not live, we end up reflecting a world that wants to take and never give back or give in. That is the state of the world we’re in.
That is the state of the world we’re in. Any form of resistance is either categorized as a crime or a sin, the questioning of authority is either the work of the jinn, or a crime that will get you imprisoned or killed, but you fight to win, because you know cops and religion are working within the same system that controls the state of the world we’re in.
That is the state of the world we’re in, not everyone is human, different people have more worth, either as a result of a privilege from birth, or from the exploitation of the earth, still birth, dead the day you were born, because you come from cities war torn, respect to the dead from the African Horn, to Rock of the Dome, to Cairo, Damascus, Beirut to Tyendanaga and everything within, solidarity is the only way we can change the state of the world we’re in.
That is the state of the world we’re in, murdered and missing women, killing between kin, and mass murder at the hands of Israelis and Americans, numbed minds and analytical remission, keeps the capitalists wishing for more war, and death, ownership of everything even the air in our every breath, and everything is determined by someone’s acquisition of wealth and their desire to stay living, and that is the state of the world we’re in.