#33 ~ City of God


In a slum where only the dust swirls,

rain never falls.

The air is thick with humidity

It claws at your skin till it glistens with a sheen

The contours of your taught body jutting out like a grooved ravine

That thick, slow, stale moving air

an oppressive weight that seeks to suffocate, strangle,

desiccate your body with excess


A click

A slide

Cold, hard metal, cool inside

Is it out of revenge? Pride? Fear of the other side?

A sharp burst

that over time, dulls in the vicinities of your working mind

as you assimilate with the daily crime

the average grind of simply getting by.

Was it because of rape, the constant haranguing that infuriates?

An addiction that we cannot feed

taking control, spreading like weed

till we find ourselves vassals

with a petrol bomb held loosely in those

gun-weidling hands.

But let’s not hypothesise, let’s not try and humanise

after all, from the vantage point where we stand

this is God’s City, His Promise Land

The only problem with this post-lapsarian man

Is that where Jehovah Stands

All else is obliterated

In his blood-soaked magnificence

we dwindle into insignificance



So we take the gun, take the stash

and make this Kingdom into a bloodbath.


I refuse to be

I need a name up in lights

So for that split second

as the dust settles, and cracked soled feet slap

that barren land

I think, I am, the God of this- this-

Invisible man.

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