Life is but a book The writer is but a politician History is repeated Just like any other book The difference Is the writer The politician behind the pen The plot is always the same Sometimes well outlined Sometimes lazy pillars Either way They both collapse In the reader’s eyes Either at the middle Or the end But it’s always the same. I see sickness of the mind In these troubling times I’ve seen how people Get greedy with opportunities I’ve seen a lousy storyteller Light the last firework To incite violence And distract The local readers.
A mere copycat Trying to rewrite History’s thorn past. Lost souls In flames In despair Segregated Malnourished Hunger of hatred Is what he seeks Filming second-rate movies For the world to see Idiocracy at its full.
And yet I can’t seem to understand The ignorant I still can’t understand The greedy Much less The influence Of a mere liar.
Is it sweet yet stupid whisper? Is a movie maker More important Than a leader? Is a barricaded coward better Than peaceful confrontation?
Wake up America! Terrorism is within Is covered in fur Doesn’t matter the softness It was still teared from the prey! Don’t shut your eyes Don’t cover your ears Don’t be distracted by lies Don’t lose yourself in the fog. Don’t Please just don’t…
I guess I knew But I shut my eyes I’ve imagined every excuse You could think of But never the color Never the heritage Never the roots of it all.
Thinking back There was a time When I lived at a small town I was but seven And fascinated with magic Funny enough A family of five Came into town.
They were witches The grownups said They might put a spell on ya They said and with that Voiced barriers were made.
But I wanted to learn magic Due to circumstances I wanted to cast a spell And protect myself. I wanted to be invisible To the masked people. So either I died trying Or never be able to.
And yes A magic spell was cast “Friendship” The most beautiful there was. I learned so many things But never magic. Sometimes I was invisible to some people Since they thought I was stained Which didn’t really matter Since I was having other Much more troubling affairs At that time.
I once asked them Why is everyone saying You all are witches and yet You all don’t know any magic? Antonio’s mom answered With a pained smile “Well, it just came to be that way.” I couldn’t understand why She answered that way.
In fact I couldn’t understand How his dad was always Looking for a job He often was fired After a week or two of getting hired.
He was a loving father He never drank I never saw him raise his voice He could do just about anything. In my eyes, he was such a good guy I just couldn’t understand it.
After a year They left town I never saw them again.
I didn’t get it back then They were having a hard time coping Getting acknowledged despite their looks They barely had money for food Yet they always invited me To whatever they had in the table.
Why was I so naive back then? Why didn’t I see the injustice? Why did I shut my eyes?
It’s not the colors It’s what’s behind it. It’s not the job It’s the worker. It’s not the rioters It’s the sleepwalkers. It’s not the dying It’s the living. It’s not “together we stand” It’s the injustice at hand. It’s not the nation It’s the leader. It’s not the eyes It’s the soul. It was not yet his time That is all.