Literature, Poem, poems, poetry, revolution

RITE OF PASSAGE

There was a suicide planned for both of us but wasn’t executed

You are mental

Yes, you are

she said

You are just insane

Fidel Castro

Drag queen rebels

Transatlantic, trans-human

No, I am not a Vatican spy

And I’m sick of the insults

She added, typically upset

There is a deep hole

after your departure

Your velvety voice

was promising peace

You disappointed me

with your hostility

But now I am sitting here

In the district block

post-revolution

and not in Britain

Where I fell straight into the war
into the epicentre of the revolution
unknowingly

And I am bored

And I feel blind

Walking through the bushes
of lilies of the valley
without blinking

and everything seems meaningless in this matrix of things

And there is a new fire
whatever I touch

And people eating each other like animals


It’s the time of apocalyptic fury
on both sides

So let’s hide

Maybe forever

Let’s wait for the storm to end

And meet on the other side

When the slaughter is over

If ever

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