Photo credit: UNICEF - Displaced children in Aleppo
On this day in nineteen forty eight, the United Nations adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, under the Chairmanship of Eleanor Roosevelt (one of my heroes).
There is no way to dress it. To make it palatable. To tie a deep and meaningful bow around it. Its been a shitty year.
Yes, absolutely. It has been personally transformative. I’ve seen the world as it is. My go to reality has been demolished.
The most ugly and disturbing thing about twenty sixteen is the non-action of the elected leaders to do anything about the Second Holocaust. Feeding the public carefully selected and sanitised morsels of Death, Racism, Violence against Women and Homelessness.
Using human suffering as an opportunity for more committee meetings and Danish pastries.
A terrorist on the roof
For the children of the Second Holocaust.
a Defender’s fantasy unfolding, a copacetic
chaos cascades onto the streets,
calling His citizens to attention-
of blue blood blocking paths, and
strangers waking to your existence.
Sirens, politicians and psychologists
scramble to the spotlight, to
catechize the world of its ignorance.
Rabbis, Imams and Priests unite
in the name of some God you have never met.
Sperm Donor hammered it into you,
the space you wasted, contorting you shrunk and
for her, you sucked cock before school,
to give her a grain of heaven on Mother’s Day. She is
dead now, no room left for life on her arm.
Clean two years but still you hold a sack of hell,
crawling to the Others constructed reality, and
the Servant states shelters are not homes
and again you are invisible- returning to the streets
taking their money, wiping the Cum of Privilege from your mouth, and
at the counter the Servant of the New Life says
you still haven’t proved you’re one of us yet.
Screens show the terrorist on the roof, and
I wanted to ask how it felt tipping the throat of power, and if
the ejector rod released that yesterday for you.
Authority said it was a tragedy, that
self-radicalisation was the cause of the Innocents dying
and genuflecting before the public, the Defenders
wailed that justice would be exacted, while
the big country boomed and bellowed, strike,
Syria, eighty five dead, a mistake
the globe distracted, with
such a respectful confessional.
the chamber spit into your brain, but
the only sounds I could hear -
were your tears hitting the concrete.