The Tragedy of a Religious Pogrom
Inertia was there, everywhere; even amidst communities that existed in the vicinity
The riding utopian word at the back of the horse
Solemn the riches made everything look ‘haram’, slitting the throat of men as the rule to wait till the animal bleeds to death.
As senseless as the ritual, seemingly ubiquitous is the world order; People killing people; animals, and anything that moves and breathes.
An alkaline power that splits highly concentrated acid, burns skin, bones, and fragments of your body, mushed and squeezed into a bowl of blood and flesh.
Riding the assuaged monotone falsity, watched the derelictions the caught-up demon faced, a demon laid and hated the people of living and the cycles they adhere,
He jumped around bound to the ground and spread his jarring tentacles, of barring and jarring fear, obnoxiously unabated and sorrow laden to control.
Haul, Call, and Growl he said as the unmatched religious fanatics burn the holy books alike,
In stride, striking the cosmic penance, hail the unveiled proselytization, or face the wrath of the God and forces we pray,
Wait in the Gray, as whites have already gone,
Drawn to the dust,
Lusting for the rust,
As rust and dust mix,
And crack my bones,
As if it was not real blood…
People kill till the night ends, babies stand, wolves growl, nightingales drown, women tore off their bellies and kill the fetus to stop producing infidels.
The crocs lay bitten and smitten, concocted in the garb of a python waiting to usurp him and mulch into one cooked rabbit caught amidst the dogs wanting to beat it and eat off the softer nether regions.
The return journey is a hoax
Laid in paramount bliss.
From all the hiss, risky crisp hypocrisy,
Who laid down the lives and why?
Now, why do you cry?
Is it worth divulging sensitive hearsay?
Do you know who said what?
Personifying mysteries, tragical histories, unending conspiracies, and prolific horizons perplex the God that you worship.
For he is dying in a strange dilemma…
Jolted knowing, People lay and take lives to be at his feet of him,
For he is awe-conspiringly perplexed, for he thinks that’s a moronic take.
For he questions even he was he or she, to be free or kneel.
Of all the wonders he created, he felt contrived while expanding his sense across the nativist religionist not arsonists of today.
They prayed, lived life off simple things, and respected the core vestiges of our being, space, and imagination.
For they respected the earth, water, air, nature, and terrain.
While you wax and wane, turning rivers dry, while the winds cry, sunshine gets frozen and hills forgotten.
Thanks a lot for taking some precious time out of your schedule to read my work. If you like it, you can read some of the other poems I have linked below. I hope you have a great day! Thanks for stopping by!!!
