things that are seen

I cannot neglect what is being witnessed at the zenith of our so-called
hallmarks of civilization with scattered bodies in it who choose

the madness of slavery for the confused rather than solitude:

old female reciting her past without neither honor nor detest nor remorse
(“reflections became dimmer, nothing else had changed,
the pavement turns on his lantern on rainy evenings as usual”);

why the old half-drunk grave digger resembles a fallen angel
and so is great in the eyes of the lost?

philosopher’s naked eyes trying to prove to a 5 year-old that his toys
are his masters, this happens in a blue bus No. 6;

loathsome teens who put up ads titled “looking for a soul mate”
on the optical gateways leading to a discovery of fakeness in their reality;

a ghost of a pretty girl haunts me for taking her virginity away
her heathenism and our Messiah lies in ruins occupied by the homeless;

our created ant still improving post-modern inferno burns us through wires
sculpting machines from flesh;

butchers of trust who begin their wondrous stories with a sentence
whispered out, including “Don’t tell this to anyone”;

machines who talk with no lubrication of anger, love or fear
machines who are nescient of connecting to stars and universes
and so left to be stagnant, wandering alone;

conformists who have never heard of Camus Kafka Nietzsche and
never had a soundless conversation with any in an afternoon
while taking care of their out-of-town garden;

the ones who forget to rebel; who’s idols became their gods of Nothing
staring at their slightly dazed faces riddled with boredom;

staring at them through Friday evening TV movies or bubbly and absurd
soap operas (caution: slippery when wet and melts away);

looking down on their faces smiling with deranged sense of beauty
in a cover of vividly colored but wounded and muted bodies of
Amazon, an arbor vitae that is no more;

don’t tell this to anyone, they speak for themselves.