Just a Dogmatic Fib

Life has no origin

History classifies it

The painter holding a brush

Not knowing what to paint next

If only the human mind understood

The relative structure of life

Alas! It’s known only

To the brush of the painter itself

Withhold the lies of the preacher

Withhold the lies of the intellectual

Withhold the lies of the initiated

Till ‘the lie’ becomes a manufactured feeling

Efficiency is a creature of misfortune

Whether it be fascism, communism or capitalism

Simply gather the references

Just go to school kids

Withhold the lies of of the banker

Withhold the lies of the salesman

Withhold the lies of the politician

Until ‘the lie’ becomes a manufactured feeling

The lie…the lie…the lie…the lie

Someone please tell ‘the lie’

Not to become my bitch

Just go and fuck itself

The Silence

Eternal silence – our keeper isolated

Entrenched in stillness of its own existence

Beyond expectations or sentient lies

All alone to our naked eyes

Carries the burden of reality

The reality – void of any certainty

The writer’s pen may run out of words

But the silence; it does not rescind its world

The keeper of space converges on itself

The silence consumes the keeper

For not a day, a month, a year

Is in measure of its term