"It's enough just to say what is before our eyes and not shrink from the conclusions." -- The Invisible Committee
He walks around the dirt track that encircles the prison yard. The sun is low in the west, giving a soft, warm glow to the forests and faces on either side of the fence. Birds are offering a lovely melody off in the east. The air is fresh, comforting. He is not aware of any of this. In his mind, there is only a cacophony of commodities vying for his attention, and some delusional sense of self he feels compelled to assert. He speaks at length in a loud voice to his companions, about nothing in particular. A large, brilliant white butterfly sets down gently on the dirt path, raising and lowering its wings. He raises his boot and crushes the butterfly.
. . . .
I open my hand, full of food, to my companion. "Would you like to try some?" "Hell no, what are you, crazy? Not out of your hand."
. . . .
She hears the screams of her mother every night as she lies awake in her bed, pretending she's crazy.
. . . .
He scans the magazines and newspapers for the answers. How many times a day should he brush his teeth? What's the best city to live in? How many close friends should he have? What's the best kind of soap to use? The answers change from week to week. He finds one he likes: a magazine tells him he should walk 10,000 steps a day. The hardest struggle is always the one of self.
. . . .
I was watching the news on the cell block. Everyone knows, like the federal government, that Wolf Blitzer tells no lies. They cheer on the slaugher of innocents in Orlando. They watch the slaughter in Dallas in silence.
. . . .
"When I was younger, I wanted to join the military." "Why is that," I ask. "So that I could kill people and get away with it."
. . . .
The little girl cannot make sense of it, no matter how hard she tries or how much she cries. "But why would they put daddy in a cage? Don't they know he loves me!" She chokes from her own sobbing, the only thing she understands.
I sit on a hill beside an electric fence topped with razorwire. The sun, kissing my face, brings a gentle smile to my lips. A subtle sense of comfort washes over me. I feel your voice rise up in my chest, acknowledging your absence. My face becomes drawn and weary as swift as a cloud drifting beneath the sun. I am encircled by the ghosts of those I'll never meet, and those I'll never see again.
Twenty-four years of lonely nights Ten thousand gallons of alcohol Countless moments of inexpressible joy A hundred suicidal thoughts A dozen street clashes and unrequited loves Twenty-four years of waking to the unknown and drifting through the endless mysteries To be bound and gagged, dragged in chains across the final empire, buried beneath sun and steel Wandering across a desolate terrain of shattered minds Lost in so many brown eyes And caresses drifting across the faces of a dozen strangers
And all of this so that I may arrive to recieve the light glistening from your lips.
Yesterday they stood grinning over the corpses of black men with illusions of immunity Speaking of patience, healing
Today with voices subdued they stumble as though half asleep with illusions of unity Speaking of patience, healing
They say how tragic it is that some police were killed in the line of duty And mumble about patriotism But this does nothing but amuse us, the oppressed, for we know They are the killers enforcers of white supremacy enforcers of poverty enforcers of misery
They speak of a race war when white supremacy comes under fire And speak of progress when black men are gunned down on camera
But we know All the SWAT teams and propaganda in the whole world cannot stop the onsetting storm.
We will grind this empire into dust with the names of the slain still on our tongues.
What can i offer across this void that thirsts endlessly What will be left as a gift beneath your eyelids? What is this Abyss that cannot be traversed even by ten thousand nights of weeping? It would be easier to enter Paradise than to give you of my self across this hungry void that swallows up my breath and evaporates all tears That turns ink into the absence of light, electric, And even my blood, however much i spill, cannot give you warmth.
And yet, dear it is to this void that you give countless precious hours When all around you children's eyes overflow with the light of God's Mercy And how many of us yearn for your affection As all of Creation bends in worship to the One, Who even now Harkens.
It is not too late.
-- -- -- --
"Ten Thousand Suns Are Blooming and We Will Not Go Blind"
-- All Glory is to God, Most Gracious, Most Merciful --
The people of the Book die eating bark and shoeleather in the blackened deserts, irrigated with their blood for to grow phantom buds blooming confusion.
Man-eating, child-molesting adulterous locust rain down a buzzing cacaphony of death upon smiling children sighing orphans praying mothers rejoicing believers . . .
The gutters are clogged with suicides and the alleys are awash with dream-chasers
Insects devour men and water is more precious than blood And some seem to think the taller their buildings the closer they are to God
And every time the sun sets it is as though God is telling all who may hear: Hasten unto Me, for the Hour is Near.
Surely, the dogs of hell have been unleashed They are pouring the foundations for the vile palaces of the Antichrist.
Enemies of God on every side throw fuel on the fire Burning the flesh of believers, even as they are condemned as infidels. Everywhere the blind have risen to power. Witness the signs, dear friends.
There can be no sense in reasoning with a hellhound And so, if God Wills it, my words are for those who have not yet cast their lot: Harken to the Supreme Guidance of God and His Messenger, Muhammad.
You cannot control the Storm. Not even a little. Do not lose yourself in that maddening Abyss.