One day there will come a time
When you won’t really know who you were.
You will be held hostage by a universal machine
That denies your very being.
You won’t know if your thoughts were yours
Or someone else’s.
You won’t know what others think
Because they won’t say it.
All that you ever learn
Would have come from one place,
You’d never know what that place was,
Because you’d fully believe it comes from within.
My grandmother dreamt of Stalin for many years.
Yes, he appeared in her dreams as she slept. Isn’t that weird?
Of course today’s heroes are largely anonymous.
No more of the megalomaniac clowns,
The imma-rule-the-world claimers from a megaphone.
The new heroes will be largely just that – heroes,
Guised behind good intentions, benevolent deeds,
Meeting in dark places to draw lines,
To write papers of structures and plans with grand titles
Birthing projects of fixing and healing, resetting, and overall cutting
The world into a gem.
Yes, let it be.
I just have two questions that puzzle my mind:
Why do we keep changing the rules?
And why do I feel like dust in the wind?
I guess you shouldn’t mind me.
I must be suffering from loneliness.
It’ll pass. And no, I’m not an activist.
I mostly just write.
donika emille 