Look, there they are!
Across the Universe find
Paper Mache men and women
Devoid of all morality.

See them twist and turn in the wind.
Wet your finger with your tongue
And wag it in the air.
If you care
Follow that compass.

Come! Admire those who treat their fellowmen
With contempt.
Team with common thugs who rule by guile;
Those who speak of peace
But war is in their hearts.

Look! See them keel over
Idolizing currency.
Observe hands that are calloused from squeezing people.
Listen! Peruse the garbage
That is disseminated to our children.

Come! Let our freedom become slave.
Throng! Let those who are fascinated squeeze between the crowds.
Scream! Let the masses surge beyond the ropes to touch
For here comes royalty.

The Massive Ordnance Penetrator (MOP) is capable of smashing through 65 meters of reinforced concrete before detonating its target. How many trees can a MOP grow? How many houses can it give to families? How many mouths can it feed?

Let us plant trees. Let us build houses. Let us feed families. Let us promote free trade, and ensure peace. Let us turn our backs on those who say a man, woman, or child cannot buy or sell unless these cruel men give approval. That “approval” is the work of the Antichrist.

For you
I send words
wrapped in fresh snow
Caressed by the fingers
of a child
Blown warm by the kiss
of his breath.

To you
I show the frontier of a heart
Journeyed first and map-less
Stoked from embers
of passion
Inspired by the strength
of family.

Fire for fire
Tender for tender
The snow melts
and circles the earth.

Love is for boys and girls.
The sun cast a shadow in the back yard
behind the house.
Two boys sat on a bench
holding hands.
“Love is for boys and girls,” she said. “Take my
hands, not his. What are
you doing?”

The moon hid behind the clouds.
Two lips reached and shared a kiss.
“Love is for boys and girls,” she cautioned.
“Take my lips, not his. With this ring
to you I would wed.”

The night went by…

The sun cast a shadow in the back yard
behind the house.
She looked out of the window and saw flowers
blooming in the yard.
Hands supported her chin with elbows
ensconced on the sill of the window.
She saw two birds nesting in a tree.
“Love is for boys and girls,” she said.
A smile played briefly on her face.

The years went by.
The world went by her.
The moon hid behind her clouds.
The day gave to her shadows.
Her flowers sometimes bloomed.
Another hand wore her ring.
Two of the same sex once loved her.

Explore St. Kitts

Blue was the color of his socks the day she left home.
So blue under the Caribbean skies
He felt a breeze blowing
Through a hole in his heart.

He often looks up at the heavens
whenever someone asks how he’s been.
“Not bad,” he says. “It could be worst.”
You know how great life is when you come back
From rock bottom.

He spent most of his life cutting sugarcane in the fields
Until that became unprofitable:
The Government rushed to build hotels
And the economy tilted toward Tourism.

He learned to make money working in a bakery
When the crooks became empowered.

The bay is now lined with jewelry stores,
Duty free shops, and fancy restaurants.
A guy has a monkey on his shoulders whenever he greets
The tourists; and money flows under the table, between
Bags of weed, and via the gun.

A man sits with his back against a tree
And thinks of idle times when the stars hung low in the night.
He had a half finished 555 dangling through his fingers
And Carib on his breath.
The radio was playing a Calypso.

A young girl with hypnotic hips sashayed out the door with her suitcases.
“You should mend that hole in your sock,” she said. “I’m not
coming back.”

Uprooted Palestinians

Click here to read: 'An Ode for Lifta'

There are people with volatile souls
They shine and rise at times,
But their glow fades away as they fall other times
They offer you bouquets of roses,
But they do not bother to remove the thorns
As soon as you pick up the rose, so beautiful,
It injures your fingertips
But the sweet scent helps you endure
You gaze at the person who gave it, you smile despite the pain
Those souls are weak, do not be stingy by withholding yourself
From holding them with your wounded hand
Walk with them to the end of the road
Be sure that they will never forget your kindness, ever
Your blood staining their hands will never fade away with passing of time
It will remain a witness to your purity!

There are people with child-like souls
They are like children even at sixty
Their smiles, their jokes, their curiosity, their actions, their lives, their colours
Every thing about them is child-like
You cannot resist falling in love with them
Such souls are beyond description
You probably feel grateful towards them
As with them you feel free to allow the child in you shine
With them, you leave behind all matters of concerns of the adult world
With them you sob over a piece of chocolate, snatched from you
You crack up flying on a seesaw or a swing
What is most delightful is that you can easily make them happy
A smile and a little doll make them feel they own the world
How wonderful are children
How wonderful are people with child-like souls.

There are people with pure souls
In their company, you radiate with deep appreciation
With them you don’t feel inferior, nor superior
They never hit you with a glance of hatred, jealousy or contempt
Never gaze at you with anger
Never attempt to harm you
To the contrary
They always embrace you
With all the warmth of the cosmos
From within the tenderness of your soul, they embroider gardens of hope
In their heart, lies the honesty and truth of the entire world
May Allah be pleased with them.

There are people with warm souls
In their company you cannot but love
You love them, you love to be near them
You love their voices
You love their beauty
You wish you could protect them with your own soul
You wish you could remove all their pain
Even your selfishness loves them
You keep praying, praying, praying
That you would be reunited with them eternally.

There are people with ordinary souls
Maybe you call them so, because you don’t know them
But be assured, that even those
Their souls must have a gift of some sort
Try to discover it.

There are people with wrathful souls
In the vastness of their existence, there is never satisfaction nor contentment
When you come close to them, the misery of the entire world would grow inside you, engulf you
Nothing satisfies their hunger
Nothing fills their void
Nothing surpasses their arrogance
Nothing curtails their greed
Nothing pleases them
Nothing gives them tranquility
But they cannot be content with that
They try to push you to view the world through their dark glasses
Stay away from them… away… away!

Iranian scientist Mostafa Ahmadi-Roshan, martyred.

One man’s death
is another man’s livelihood

One man’s happiness
is another man’s sorrow

One man’s peril
is another man’s peace

One man’s health
is another man’s disease.

What we compare
And though we may borrow
Cute statements to tell the story
Men will consider these days in retrospect
in light of what comes tomorrow.

One man’s land
is another man’s bounty

One man’s prison
is another man’s home

One man’s ocean
is another man’s battle ground

One man’s triumph
is another man’s bane.

One man’s mountain
is another man’s rubble

One man’s research
is another man’s crime

One man’s progress
is another man’s diversion

One man’s contraband
is another man’s trade.

One man’s love
is another man’s spite

One man’s fear
is another man’s challenge

One man’s passion
is another man’s irrelevance

One man’s wisdom
is another man’s folly.

One man’s hope
is another man’s distress

One man’s sleep
is another man’s wake

One man’s gun
is another man’s ploughshare

One man’s protest
is another man’s anarchy.

What we compare
And though we many borrow
Cute statements to tell the story
Men will consider these days in retrospect
in light of what comes tomorrow.

Iran's Foreign Minister Ali Akbar Salehi

What nation is content to not surpass
What other nations have achieved?
Who dare to say second
Is satisfactory?
Nations must do
Whatever is in their interest
And to that purpose we strive
Free from the paralysis of fear
With the will to fight for what we believe.
Though sanctioned and pilloried
We do what others say should not be done
To lift our nation beyond compare.
While many may genuflect to a power across the sea
And cast their lot against us,
We shall not condone inequality:
Unbowed a nation goes thru fire for honor
And blame man.
Bowed a nation accepts what is convenient
And cheer God.

U.S. Carrier sails through Strait of Hormuz

War is coming
The damage has been done
History will read the Persians attacked first
The pundits will say
We never wanted war
And how did this happen?
Our government will plead innocence
To a careful plan
To cripple their economy
And foist war on to Iran.

War is coming
God has been usurped
From east to west
Across the seas
Nations now bow to please their master;
So worthless in exchange given
They accept with ranging pride
A currency of worthless paper
Ink so newly dried.

War is coming
With irony now we meet
Irate to fabled Goliath
Beneath King David’s feet.

They are those who walk, those who run, and those that follow.

Iran responds by upping the nuclear ante, defiantly showcasing advances in nuclear technology in the face of US-Israel led sanctions.

He who walks may have organized his time so well that he is not rushed to get to where he is going. It could also mean that this man lacks urgency, for preparation is not suffice to devalue that it is often better to arrive at an accomplishment early.

He who runs may be late, and so his plans may be going off course. It could also mean that this person is an over achiever: there are many things for him to accomplish, and he may think that it is better to be proactive, and address them expediently.

He who follows is the worst of them all. He lacks direction. His goals are often set by someone else. If he is opportunistic, he should use his time to watch and copy what he sees.