In This Expelled Land

These connoisseurs of peccadillo

Like the true actors with swollen throats,

Neigh with their wavering emotions,

To croak the moans of phony injustice,

Waving their flags all across.

I walk on this never-ending

Circular road with fear in my eyes

Of those wild dogs chasing me away,

While hunting for the fate lines

That will turn me divine.

Violent blasts of existence, several.

The wounds glide on me, numerous.

I hear it all, till my eardrums rupture,

The hollow applauds of the lady of

Justice that is played on the capitalist

Political jukebox with the jingles of

Selfish exploitation, the hide-and-seek.

In this country that resembles

A huge abode of insects, I

Have been trapped alive,

Where these hollow sinners

Sieve the pledges of morality.

Their garlands of honor hang low,

Erasing the essence of rectitude, on

Which drips my molten blood, like

That ferocious sun at noon.

O Hell!

The jokers of the media,

Like ravens, keep under their

Claws the realities of happenings.

A dog from the hell loyally guards

The treasure of justice – a van full of

Our innocent corpses, driven by the

Devil duo.

Like a maimed martyr,

I walk, with my face bowed down

In this exiled country.

I walk amidst the crowd, listening

To the screeching alarms of the scary siren.

I, like with the sight of a cursed God,

With an ax, chop my past.

The future gets restless, like the

Jumbled manuscripts of the

Ancient religious scriptures.

I, of this horrid country with lost

Conscience, the Prince of Hell,

Uproot the earth, to find my joys.