Did you feel happy defiling so many innocent souls?
To say there were kid’s gloves involved would be a gross understatement #MeToo ignored you and your wife, but I didn’t About time the consequences rained down on you But it still looks like a slap on the wrist When others faced more time for less How many people would be able to get away with destroying children Especially after they were on THAT registry back in their home country? How many people did you bribe in one or both nations? You better thank your privilege for only serving 16 years For those that don’t know what I’m referring to, then you can watch Preying Missionaries and this news clip from Kenya. Also, the fact Edmond Nyabola doesn’t have any journalism awards for breaking this story is a travesty, too. May God bless the victims and their families.
Images built up
A tremendous sense of worth As knowledge increased
Avant-garde art and experimental films one day
Indie BritWres matches the next Anime after that Historical documentaries the day after Sprinkling some nonfiction books in between Before delving in manga pages After writing haikus and fiction concepts in a notebook Why am I a walking contradiction with these hobbies?
Breakers and crashing tides
In the moon-less night Shouting out to no one else The eyes could be there But the ears could be lightyears away Capsizing was imminent As leagues of falsehoods rise up to sink the wrecked freighter
Voices from the four corners were screaming out
A diaspora choir risked being drowned From Arica, Salta, Wolverhampton, to even Kharkiv Obscuring by ink and red tape Try to quiet the ongoing choir While branding them as nothing but “other” Other? They knew what this meant The collective chorale should be amplified Against the declaration to render them invisible
They say every one is a critic
I certainly wouldn’t deny it My silvery-platinum eyes were spectacles for others These opinions mattered more in multiple contexts While proud of these observations My pride in my own originality faded harder than vintage denim So many fires, so many embers Only a few would become pyrotechnics, though I wouldn’t want them to be altars Other creative works would be on display There was a joy in bringing light to the obscure from all around the world No, Japan wasn’t my only destination even though a section of this part of the net appreciated those shiny pennies from the Rising Sun While I’m versatile, I didn’t want to be confined Much less ashamed of having fandoms at all I prayed I wasn’t a failure in all my endeavors As I’ve thought for most of my life
Are crafted throughout the world As coffers vanish
Piano, repique, chico…
The sizes of the three drums brought such color When one was lost in cultural amnesia Credit slowly became due long after Barcelona’s crown was rejected The connection to the lost was retrieved By hand and by clave The memories flooded and the shame evaporated After centuries of propaganda Robust sounds burst by trios or infantries or cuerdas Encore, maestros!
[Note: Let’s see how many references my readers will get in this satirical poem.]
Adoration was entitled to the emulators As I deserved the accolades for being best Who wants to be first, anyway? Fighting for medals was a reason of life I needed no antennae for such a goal Obstacles to being the pinnacle disappear With the snap of my gloved fingers Reaching 9999 levels of power helped Making sure I won no matter what I am acclaimed, more than just a carbon copy You’d be selling me short that way So all these originals are complaining of my existence, now? Too bad Life’s not fair, isn’t it? Is it really that insidious when you have thousands of adoring fans? This is the age where clones achieve coronation
Unsure futures start to show In frozen deserts