Seven savage centurions,
Swearing in their saint union’s
Scoured, scouted for sacredness,
Spreading but mere senselessness.
Seven souls sorted by Ceasar
Soullessly scorched the soil spare,
Sending to scourge not just its cereal,
But with seven skint scullions seen there.
In the circling flame’s stake,
Seeing no but smoke and flame,
Seeing no scape to suddenly recoil,
Sadly screamed the servants of the soil.
So, been so scared, suffocating,
Scarcely sober and scarcely seeing,
Thinking their souls cease on that soil,
They started a pray as a last toil on that soil.
Saying sour words to their gods,
But none seemed to soothe the odds,
No Ceres, Venus and no sound from Zeus,
Scullions suffer godless, they had to deduce.
Six scullions snared by scare,
But a single turned scare to dare,
Sending his sidekicks into fire graves,
Instinctively building a bridge of slaves.
Then, the savage scullion
Before being seen by any centurion,
Stabbed their posteriors from one to six,
Til the seventh slaughtered him for his sins.
Wear, wear whatever you dare,
Tho, the global locality has no morality…
Animals with human customs,
Humans with animal costumes
Form the world into a modest mode-
In which the smartest ones are silent
While the mass dress in rumbling drunkness
in happy hues of the humbling violent
Of the primitive homo-geniuses.
Does nudity equal with the human nature?
Which? Human as savage or creature?
Born or grown?
While sensations design human customs,
Is predestination more than a fake costume?
Does the world hold anything divine?
While we follow an immoral aurora-
Its warming colours in a frozen desert
That implies no divine unseen scenes?
Questions are colorless, unseen but existing
Alike to God’s infinite fineness-
Probing our customs if they are probed.
Methink costumes as a colorful ocean,
mesee customs as the change of the world.
We sink in the dying world’s dying ocean.
A pair of emerald eyes made a pauper-
To wish for a mountain of emeralds,
To provide a proper life for her:
I’ve been a man of no pretension;
My clothes with sockets-
I am giving restrained attention;
No countries with rockets-
I will promise her a convention;
The life of the prophets’-
I’d aspire to God’s protection;
The safety of this locket’s-
” Indeed, Allah is not timid to present an example – that of a mosquito or what is smaller than it. And those who have believed know that it is the truth from their Lord. ” (Quran 2:26)
Could I feel myself smaller than I am –
Than a captive servant in a mortal clay? –
Even so, I am blessed in this mayhem:
” You are my greatest creation ! ” He say.
Say: surely, I have no shame at this time –
I might feel far away my coming inquisition –
However, I am indeed fearful of that time:
” Oh God, why you’ve taken away my vision ? “
That day, those who forget His words –
They will be blindly wandering, forgotten –
But, aren’t we already headless herds:
” While His words deepen by every second? “
” Where are Pharaon, now? ” Asken –
Just an exemplar among the thousands and one,
Though, they were mightly beaten:
” Do equal the obedient and disobedient one? “
So, we are between two worlds –
To follow the hollow good and fight the real –
Even if, we have nothing but words:
” Don’t be sad, My Servant, I am closely here. “
I have read the stories, the examples –
Suffering Prophets, laymen and bystanders –
Though, where is mine among the samples:
” Only God can judge me, none of any slanders. “
Say: I sin for others’ favour –
Like one man’s trash is another’s treasure –
But, what should I feel about my labour:
” Why does God put me under such pressure? “
I met people who believe in angels…
Their clothes wore them over simply,
Their haircut was as plain as a floor cloth,
Their posture was somewhat self-denying.
Only their eyes were burning manically…
Their white of the eye died their spiritual face,
Their face then called for a random holy war,
But their elastic black of the eye was empty.
What’s the matter? – I asked from them,
Then, a thousand of unwanted explaining:
We didn’t create this world, but it’s created!
We are under an eclectical law enforcement.
Then, named and nameless angels came,
Telling me their roles in my life – helping,
Just simply as policemen save donuts,
And firefighters keep cats earthly.
I wanted to tell them a thousand words,
How I were eclectical already
Without angelic red lights,
I was full of goodness
In my mind,
Now, I’m full of foulness,
Fate fool’ it.