Answer, world ! – K.B

A prelude…



Answer, World !


Answer world,
Why do you leave
Your children hungry?
Answer !

Why do you leave
Us poor immigrants
With no honor or dignity
Between the arms of
Whores ? Our wives
Remained behind.
Answer world !
Why do you keep
Our eyes wide shut
To the truth and light
Of Islam ?
Answer !

Tell me world,
And fast, coz
I’m bleeding inside
But I can’t show it
Or else I get more hurt.

Look at yourself
You teach games,

I mistaked the eyes of
God in the blue ocean
Of Svetlana, hazy
And drug addicted.

I mistaked my mother’s
Concern for my future
With futile worries,
But she knows,
And I can’t change.

Poverty is like opium.
When the mind loses
A screw it drowns
The whole crew.

We chose madness
Because it’s cheap
And when I look
At those « self made
Men »
I see fear building
Up in their scrotum
Each time
They had to grow up.
That disease is thinking
We owe nothing to no one
So we don’t have to give back.

From Istanbul to Brussels,
From Sichuan to L.A
The same shit
Is going on,
We’re trying to reverse
The machinery.
It’s so important that we lost
Sleep, we lost appetite,
We earned no money
Guided by providence
White prophets coming
Down the hills in a world
That pours shit on our name,
If not said, thoroughly discussed,
Another episode of your serie.

Our reason for treason
Was not appealed by
Lustful delinquancy,
Our hearts
Couldn’t take it anymore,
The way our hearts
Were torn apart and
Twisted .
When things failed,
We discovered the scam

That guy I took a coffee with
Died. He was homesick.
Because he had been displaced
Because of war.
God, sent compassion
To his tomb.
He was too old.
He had a stroke
Far from his family.
And I couldn’t go
To the funeral.
And I didn’t call
His son.
And I was traveling
At that time,
Heard the news
Through my mom.
I want to venge
His life spent in dedication
To his country Syria that fell
Into decay.
We the people,
Are always the victims.
Politicians take a jet
And end up in Saudi
In some palace
For service rendered
To the unshakable world

My heart cries.
I am from the people.
Today, two hobos
Sitting on a bench
With beer.

A woman beaten
By her alcoholic
Sad children,
Wrought out
And killed light
Of Joy.

There’s enough food,
Enough energy.
But they keep
Shake the mass,
Your cocktail tastes…
Like blood.
Bloody Mary.
Tequila sunrise,
That one’s for me,
Coz I’m proud
To serve,
And it’s not  » boring ».
Go back to your idiotic
Show or lend a hand,
Find the good blend
Between fun and





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