Posted at 11:52 am , on March 1, 2016
They killed a dozen boys in brazen daylight
Their sin: soccer watching, goofin’ round & flying a kite
Can you smell the charred remains of the teenage boys?
Can you imagine your own young’ens being burnt for playing with toys?
Or is our world just too pompously far away?
Posted at 3:57 pm , on February 26, 2016
Does that name ring a bell?
She’s the Muslim Republican casting a spell
On fellow Muslims to vote for Trump, that soulless shell
Arguing Democrats’ policies of same sex marriage will send us all to hell…
Know this, my dear sister: Once you become trapped inside his oppression well
No one will hear your cries for help, no matter how hard God will help you yell.
Posted at 5:03 pm , on February 19, 2016
Nauru, be proud
All you have provided refugees till now are
Unjust looks, acrid smirks and their shroud.
Rancid scum will reek from your conscience
Until history spits you in its pits of the immoral haemorrhoid crowd.
author disclaimer: I’m no journo, so you can’t slap me with $8,000 for your foul, puss-scented visa, if I ever apply for one. I’m just a human thinking about your atrocities out loud.
Posted at 12:04 am , on February 16, 2016
When the night wakes up
All rude thoughts begin to swim
The strongest lover signs a prenup
All due to a Google search and a whim
Posted at 6:48 pm , on February 15, 2016
He sold everything except his dogged shoes, a crumbled pack of cigarettes (which also held a small lighter the shape of a Pepsi bottle) and a backpack, which he didn’t pack, as he had nothing. So he just protected his smokes inside his old brown leather jacket, which he’d stolen from a neighbour’s house after their apartment block flitted during a new military game called ‘Strafe’ version 16.
Finally, he’d fled Monsieur Tyranny to Europe. But the rancid smell of oppression bruised his nose harder than a coke overdose as soon as he got there.
Posted at 11:52 pm , on February 14, 2016
I was wondering how a potato has so many different uses. From the humble-as-the-Dalai-Lama fries to the hard-as-a-bible-cover vodka.
Have you ever wondered, if you are as useful as a potato on this planet?
Posted at 11:30 am , on February 14, 2016
When it began to rain
People chorused their complain
The lion however
Left his mundane jungle
And ripped his stories past:
Brutal, bountiful insane.
The source of life
Had fed him her droplets
He wasn’t interested
In hunting anymore
It was time to feel her drip drop
And her sound as she caressed his harshness
Drop by drop,
Only love would remain.