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Eight corpses
lie stretched across the pathway of reckoning
I am losing my senses bit by bit
Eight open pairs of eyes look at me in sleep
I scream out
They are calling me
I will turn insane
I will kill myself
I will do whatever I want to do
Through stencilled manifestos on naked walls
A collage crafted of own blood, tears and bones �
now is the time for poetry
in the torn face of severest pain
right now is the time to hurl poetry
face to face with real terror �
keeping eyes fixed at the blinding headlight of the vans
at the .38 and whatever else the killers have
It is time to face them with poetry
Through stone-cold lock-up chambers
Shattering the yellow lamps of crime investigation cells
In courthouses run by murderers
In seats of learning that teach lies and spew venoms of hatred
In the state machine churning abuse and terror
In the heartless chest of gunmen who serve that machine �
Let the anger of poetry echo out in fury
Let the poets of the world prepare themselves, like Lorca,
for their strangled corpses to disappear
let them be ready to be stitched up by machine-gun bullets
the hours' beckon
the city of poetry must be surrounded by villages of poetry.
this valley of death is not my country
this executioner�s theatre is not my country
this vast charnel-ground is not my country
this blood-drenched slaughterhouse is not my country
I will snatch my country back
I will pull the fog-kissed white kans flowers, the crimson dusks and the endless
rivers
back into my chest
With all my body I shall surround the fireflies, forests burning in ancient hills,
countless crops of hearts, flowers, humans and horses from fairytales
I shall name each star after each martyr
I shall call out to the howling breezes, lights and shadows playing across the
fish-eyed lakes of dawn
And Love � banished to places lightyears away ever since I was born:
I shall call it too, to join the carnival of the day of Revolution.
I reject
Days and nights of interrogation with a thousand watts of electricity blazing
straight into eyeballs
I reject
Electric needles inside fingernails
I reject
Having to lie naked on chunks of ice
I reject
Being hanged upside down till blood gushes out of nostrils
I reject
Spiked boots pressed on lips, burning iron rods on every inch of skin
I reject
The sudden blast of alcohol on whiplashed back
I reject
Stark electric jolts on the nerves, sexual torture
I reject
Being beaten and thrashed to death
I reject
Revolver-muzzles stuck against craniums