Ode to ideological massacre

By Atok Dan

Behold the land where ideas die at the behest of crude force,

And wisdom withers at its bud of germination   

Wield of dishonesty

Only a few could explore brains

The brain that goes ideological massacre

 At the bud

With contentment

 Does anybody bother of an idea anew?

An idea murdered by the owner

At the stage of conception

Called it an ideological massacre of innovation

Wonders of minds that feel threatened by Innovative

Dangling factiously for foreign help

Yet he has disowned itself next door

The brouhaha of happy neophytes at work

The brain is massacred for its wisdom

Masses bore the brunt of the ruin

Naysayers sacrificed our social fabric

Theft, looting, and robbing sugarcoated

Yielding fruit of discords

On the cusp of denial

In the lion’s jaw

                                By Atok Dan

In desperation, I’m in the lion’s jaw,

awaiting chews and gnaws

when teeth grind themselves,

for a social affair almost aborted

I’m lying upside down,

 seeing death sharpening its teeth

salivating over me,

In the lion’s jaws,

I’m destined to awkward death of teeth

of breaking my bones in a torn skin and flesh

only nature can bail me out

with my ears deafened by roars of a starved lion,

with canines and molars glows

like a metal rod held by a welder

smoldering in the Biblical like-heat

life has only an end,

of death

In the jaws of a fierce lion,

For an idea expressed

logic and wisdom rattle me helpless,

my eyes sunken in the ocean of tears,

intestines churning thunderously

I’m already a martyr of an aborted social love

Swarm of bumpkins around it

                                          By Atok Dan

Bumpkins, novices all bumble to do it right

Perhaps from millennium village,

Or from the cattle camps

None ever bothers to seek know-how,

With all banknotes in pockets,

All perplex technically,

A swarm of bumpkins surrounds the fire

They sing songs knowledgeably,

For nature has descended,

With a piece of luck

Over their long impoverished village,

Peacetime to swollen our bottomless pits

Their pot bellies only become overburdened,

Loaded with starch,

And calories of sugary junk

Let no families of dietaries out

Swarm of bumpkins around the pot on the fire

Is chewing and eating what their molars specialized in

Not at all, tongues are too busy

Mastered art of rumor-mongering

A whirlwind of rumors intended to stir vice,

By a cabal of bumpkins

They swarmed it like flies over the unburied corpse

Protruded pockets display illegally amassed banknotes,

Ranging from green American notes

To light pink and sky-like bluish pounds,

All are to water down molecules of sugars and carbohydrates

Hurriedly compiled in ant-hill shape structure

Gastric acid is overpowered

With bumpkins, they swarm around the power,

The house of food,

Paraded like vultures over a carcass,

If let go,

Life will fizzle miserably,

Even straightened skins on fatten

bones will again form folded wrinkles like before,

Gone historical emaciated shapes

None like a reminder of such

With backs turned away from it

For God’s sake,

 I swear, it shouldn’t come again

Bubbles in colloquial English

Gun it down he who tempers with,

Our plates of pizzas At Home,

Bottles of gins and juniper berries

At an away of comfort,

In a modern paradise of ramshackle system,

A swarm of bumpkins armed to teeth talks in defense

Over his berry and iPod

Set them insecure for our security,