Lives

 Lives of people, varied ways,

Stacked in concrete,in a haze.

Roofs and terraces,a crowded scene,

Nerves on faces,taut and lean.

Frightened, hollow compliments,

Antennas,dishes, cheap pretense.

The youth grows cheap,a devalued cost,

Asleep or bathing,all is lost.

Black cables, wires, a tangled thread,

Obstructions where the green has fled.

Asymmetrical,a blight,

Severed from the sun's pure light.

Antennas pierce the clouded sky,

The tools of terror,mounted high.

Windows,now the spoils claimed,

Of progress,brutally named.

A city like a mountain, white,

A plague that smothers day and night.

Burnt-out,scorched, a rubber streak,

The future,fragile, tired, and weak.

My home

 In my home, at times, the scents that rise

Through nature's breath still gleam,

But barring them,the holes comprise

Of cement,asphalt, in a seething steam.

In my home, I love the sky's embrace,

The white and blue in song,

The iron,and the cars' swift race,

Have silenced it,now babbling along.

My home, constructed on the hill,

Thirsts for its sacred trees,

Against the green,the concrete chill

Drew down its steely canopies.

Withered in my home, the soul's own light,

Deprived of our sun's holy ray,

For with the terraces in sight,

An endless shadow made me friend,I say.

I long to see the sea's grand show,

Proud waves in bloom,unbound,

But instead of this,I'll lose my sight, and know

The smog,the exhaust, shaves all to the ground.

And in the boxes, souls lament,

Like open coffins,shared the same dark fate,

A mass of faces,life long spent,

They chose to leave existence desolate.

Civil memory loss

 The incomprehensible absence

Of the nocturnal sounds,

The child's pure ignorance

Of vain tragedy's bounds.

The weighty, grave presence

Of hysterical walls,

The pulse's defiance

Of cause that appalls.

The brutal cold-water plunge

Of the spirit's typhoon,

The lamp's sudden lunge

At misery's noon.

The frenzied non-being

Of verses forced,crude,

The bleeding of seeing

For useless sanctitude.

The loveless rebellion

Of honest,stark brews,

The phalanx's felon

For a counterfeit muse.

The blatant loud clamor

Of TV-made streaks,

The people's deep slumber

Through poverty's peaks.

And the uneven barbarity

In a statesman's fine speech,

In the depth of the garden,

Timeless vagrants reach 

Eternal growth

 Eternal, the economic spree,

A growth that thrives on misery.

Against a backdrop stained with blood,

And festive days,a swelling flood.

Rich hypocrisy takes its stand,

For the arrival,close at hand.

Colossal robes,in style and grace,

At chic soirées,they find their place.

Small coffins, carried with despair,

In limousines,beyond repair.

Human limbs on carpets red,

Where humble wants are thinly spread.

They serve up poverty with flair,

In gourmet kitchens,unaware.

The scent of black decay,so deep,

On perfect hair,its secrets keep.

A stark capital's celebration,

Named for days of desolation.

Social gatherings,bright and vast,

Where irony is served at last.

A planet drunk on consumption's lie,

With money drying,parched and dry.

Dresses,cars, a gleaming show,

While hunger gnaws,a constant woe.

A culture burning, growth's demand,

Sets fire to trees across the land.

The quails now swim in endless fear,

The sea is empty,bare, and clear.

While diamonds hang with icy gleam,

On ears that coldly disregard the dream.

The states that plunder,steal, and seize,

The ancient signs,on every breeze.

Artificial lights

 Tyranny of the image, stark,

In a cerebellum,numb and dark.

The money's typhoon,fierce and wild,

A blind distillate,beguiled.

Television and relations thin,

An empty video,playing within.

The rich in hollow,vacant phrases,

A cheap orgy for the ages.

Fake plants and stiff, starched collars wear,

Fedora rain,a dull despair.

Pageants of lines,a soulless race,

Eyelashes twitch,and shame takes place.

Sponsored ads and promotions blaze,

Dramas of gossip,in a haze.

You'll leave your intellect,your mind,

For products and for goods designed.

The universe is on the stand,

With discounts,surely, close at hand.

"Just how to live?"they say, "Attend!

And shop with vigor,without end."

Vibrant bright colors and free gifts,

Salesmen with hypnotic drifts.

A hollow,artificial sphere,

Irrelevant correspondents here.

The comments flow, a ceaseless stream,

The screening dazzles,an extreme.

To graze on scattered,tiny crumbs,

In your poor yard,the spirit numbs.

Child christening

In everlasting life, they hide

Abundant guilt, a swelling tide.

Each sacred, hallowed, pious plea

Now suffers, for it cannot be.

Doubt and thought, a restless breath,

Oppose the digestion—a mental death—

Of dogmas narrow, tight, and confined,

Which echo in a spastic mind.

Your fine church, with pious air,

Defies the irony laid bare.

The flock's ideas, crude and base,

Now march in a debased parade's disgrace.

Inside your heads, the matrices,

Uneducated slaves, Semites;

The words you find in sacred texts,

The money's share, its complex effects.

And yet your crimes, the wrongs you've sown,

Are pardoned by the policeman's tone.

Perhaps in some archaic future night,

An angel's death will bring the light.

The history of the faith you praise,

The invention of sin, a blinding haze;

The icons in the vaulted nave,

Are phantoms that the masses crave.

The power's deviations, deep,

The narratives the centuries keep;

All are hostages to the lie,

In the blood of unbelievers, left to die.

A fabricated face, a form,

They christened Christ, to norm the norm.

A comedy of ethics, spun,

So useless, and so overdone.

Meaningless failure

 Amidst the starry, teeming swarm,

A faltering experiment,

It swells without intent—

A keystone of an ancient fort's old form.

Blood-drenched, devout, the hillsides stand

In power's games and cruel designs,

Assassin of all true resigns,

Just money now,and saints with gritted sand.

The land is raining tools and gear,

As though a chimpanzee guffaws,

It shattered all the learning's laws—

See how it violates nature,fierce and sheer.

It crafts out demons, gods, and ways

With overweening arrogance,

Shameless,unchecked exuberance—

An ode to war that parcels out the days.

At the crossroads, Science and Friendship wept,

Blindly,it passed them by,

It wanted,competitively,

For civilization's roads to be swept.

But in the cosmos, who will care

For human joy or peace of mind?

False gods have told humankind:

“Just one more faint,terrestrial failure there.”

Storm

Phobia and Paranoia grow

In ignorance's field,

And hatred, anger's bitter throe,

Like anxious lament, revealed.

In houses turned to narrow cages,

Bloom weariness and glare,

Your mind now races, warily engages,

The TV screeches there.

You feed on images, a dire feast,

On barren, fruitless zones,

You plant your children in the least

Of lands—where falsehood owns.

You’ll go on holiday, depart

To live two lives, they say,

You’ll watch the ads before the start,

Before you go away—

But first survive, and then erase

The debts you can’t adjourn,

And don’t forget to leave no trace—

Turn off the oven’s burn.

A life laid flat, a toaster’s slice

On barren, arid ground,

The day is dark, and not as nice

As fancy may have crowned.

Nature now foams in deep despair,

The world spins like a wheel,

The scent of money fills the air,

The trees are stripped, they feel.

Humanity the hunted prey,

And failure, stark and real,

And cooperation’s gentle way

Would seem a joke’s appeal.

In the final calculation’s light,

You craved the rival’s fight,

You sowed the seeds of capitalism’s blight,

Now reap addiction’s night.