Zywa
Chill winter mist
I walk alone through the country
where they murdered my mother
incited by the political valets
of big business, our country
which shapes my thoughts
and hides my longing body
and your longing body
under collective fear
which is still held hostage
by the many-headed dragon of
the arrogant screamers who drive
us into war in their interests
which leaves me standing alone
next to the barracks and the new
golf course of the businessmen, I call
upon all the wise men, saints and angels
in the midst of the whirlwind
of suffering that does not exist
in the mouths of the spokesmen -
made invisible by their breath
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