Unmeditating hearts, gone deeply wrong
Amidst this land disheveled for so long,
Where hope for undisturbed peace, like high
Euphrates River now, seems running dry,
Are captives of a-vouching crafty tongue
A-driven with conviction high and strong,
That seems to bring about the longed-for
Well-being, and calm life like whisp’ring shores,
Delight, like riding Ferris wheel outdoors.
Such throng’s no longer in captivity
For all their wills no longer disagree,
They rather will it now, to be apprized,
With cheerful heart and mind like mesmerized
By such a-vouching songs of libertines,
That though the sun rises up and shines
The lies wrapping such a calloused vouchery,
Their inner eyes couldn’t see, nor will to see,
They seem like being covered with turbidity.
A stunning phenom right before our eyes:
For though the vouchery of crafty lies
Emerge on open evidential pool,
The captives just absorb them like black hole
Absorbing any ray of truth exposed,
Their judgment is as if metamorphosed
Into that of leaf-eating caterpillar;
They spew out any truth that comes out clear,
Ingest corruptions that they see and hear.
While staring at such great phenomenon
And pondering how such a phenom won
The million loyalties upon these lands
And welded them to form cohesive bands,
My head is shaking, unaware, in dis-
Belief: within the skull the light is less,
The squid’s black weapon is more and more;
The fist of truth is knocking at the door
But they adore the phenom even more.
I have been led to wondering at such
Societal sight: blind sentiment is too much
Which by itself it blinds cognition’s eyes,
So paralyzed to see the vivid lies;
Although mayonic truth is looming near
The rolling eyeballs see but nothing there;
Their idol’s sight replace their very own,
They even act like him, or her, alone,
Can’t move, but moved as chess’ anterior pawn.
Such captives claim to hold veracity
But cage the truth in the bars of falsity,
They even draw the sword and make an arc
To keep the truth bound always in the dark,
Overturn a narrative in tonguèd word
Or stylus’d one as their effective sword,
To keep the garland of the stately power
A-hanging in many years, in every hour
Around the neck of perfidy’s tower.
It’s now a thing to wonder in society:
Man’s judgment rolls on the ladder of decay,
The moral compass field has gone to naught,
No longer knows where is the north or south,
Or rather surely points south as north
And north as south, and so on and so forth;
What media man Mercado once said is true:
The ‘ultimate perversion’ is on the go
Around these lands with emboldened show.
If darkness is the light within this race,
How deep the darkness be, the Gospel says;
The nation’s woes are scoffed and shove aside
And sacrificed on cusser’s altar countrywide,
For love of child who treads same path of lies
And shrinks behind the shadows of alibis;
But God whose name is spelt as simpleton
Pours out sophiac spirit from his throne,
To shine for all to see the hades in the man.
