American Dollar

about me
they die and lie
for me
they fight and cry
about me
they prostitute the child
for me
they suck the lives
about me
the newspaper prints
for me
they come and go
about me
they roll up the collars
for me
they are not capitalist
for me
they are costumers
i am a widower
left alone to prostitute
to substitute
whores and boars
i am the american dollar

A widower, I am

I am not heard
As I am hurt

I am so silent
Like those mountains

I am not fine
As I miss my old wine

My company was she
When I walked and slept

She tickled me
With her fingers on my hips

She flickered her cigar
Till the ashes filled the fish jar

All it was I
Who saw things between my eyes

Never knew myself
Like those books on the Wiseman shelves

It is all me
Tossing and rolling in this sleep

The widower I am

It is only I
Looking out for a better goodbye

I walk
They look around for her
But no one shows up

I talk
They wait for her name
But my tongue misses it out

I sleep
The dream comes
But all black like crow

I eat
They serve me the Lebanese rolls
I miss the taste and the cream

I drink
But I miss the fire

It is all I now
Who made her say

She is weak like a thin twig
She sobbed

I knew it was not she
It was meant to teach me

Something I had not learnt
In this life of 26 years

I said it is just a chapter
She said don't flatter

And she lost me

Akhu's Protest Blues

I have seen people burnt to death
They watched lamenting, “it is indeed sad”
I have seen gunmen snatching money
In the name of revolution, Oh! It is funny
Even some activists turning to fundamentalists
What to wear and not, Oh! Not so socialist
What to drink and not, Oh! I am so pissed
Even they want the motors to howl with the scripts
The madness of fanaticism is in its peak
I have heard of activists going to Geneva
To see the place and back with sweeter saliva
I have read writers and essayists
Who live in one-dimensional universe,
I forgive them they have lesser idea of Physics
My own drunken green men are still strayed and barking
On the very streets where their folks protested..

Before my hey days are over
I am going to load my gun
It is not fun
Anymore
Watching the whores-like
Politicians and gunmen
Robbing me and my woman

I am going to protest in my thong
Under Samu-Makhong
Whoever that comes closer with boots
I am going to shoot
I will ask my percentage
From every breath they take, they are ass!!

I protest against the politicians
Wish I could make them run naked
To see how fatty their asses are
I protest against the magician-like builders
They can not let it stand straight and tall
When a neutrino passes it is going to fall
When there is a piercing of virgin it is going to fall
I protest against the gunmen
They do not deserve a gun but a pinch of sand
Not even a yard of land in this land to stand
I protest against the cops
Wish I could turn them to corpses

Yes!
I am a burning candle
Trying to lit a volcano
I am a broken bangle
Trying to set her free
I am the jingle
That starts after the end
I am the singer
Who sings this song of protest…
Kill me before
I kill you