Saturday, 2 March 2019

Fried Alive


Typing. Typing. Typing.
In the mind: Do Right.

Right is Absolutely No Mistake.

Mistake is wrong moral.
Satan has moral but it is wrong.

Right is not murdering.

She killed my uncle.
He killed my father.

Right is watching.

Typing. Typing. Typing.

That is reporting.

They read. They laugh. They scoff.
That is Authority.

Right is watching.

Wrong is doing something. Typing is nothing.
Nothing is Authority.

The burning from hell.

It takes the body.
Eye for eye.

Dead, then no more harm.

That is wrong. Right is typing. It is all not doing.
Right is the absence. Void is loving.

Bye uncle. Bye father.

That is The Right.
She is happy. He is fine.

There is crying inside.

Pain in the chest is right. Her laugh is right.
His scoff is fine.

Right in the morals.

Typing. Typing. Typing.
Writing is nothing. Maybe Wrong is also Right.




Thursday, 14 February 2019

Love is Great







Faith, Love and Hope: which one is the greatest? That was the question. The answer was love and the justification was this biblical extract. 

If you are a proper human being, then you love. If you love, then there is a good chance that you are a proper human being. 



Tuesday, 5 February 2019

A Tear


It started in the depths of the cervix
Gravity held it for a time
Temperance of those ahead and behind

A sudden compression from the sides
Feeling of it all being smashed
All darkness

The brain pumped it
Its own cervix
Also its depths

The eyes went sharpening
Forming knives
That hurt the fine end of the duct

Piercing piercing
Now the liquid
Goes squeezing

Suffering has an end
It is on the slide of the tear
Merging and vanishing

Its death creates cheers
Confusion dazzling
Heart is again on track

The organism learns
And next time
Pain will not kill us



Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Hell

By Marcia R. Pinheiro



The devil himself woke her up
His lips were dry; full of dust


Devil whispered her name from inside
Hell was in her


Day and night she walked oppressed;
Sad, lonely, hurt


She faded away like a burnt match
Everyone saw, nobody thought I must


The religious passed far;
All that discourse; just crust


The cops took the scoff
But it was definitely crime


It is rough, violation of human rights
Poor woman: No time to shine.






Home


By Marcia R. Pinheiro

When you are little
Things sometimes come by means of absorption
Sense of home comes from mother
Mother knows what home is
Home is whatever mother says

When you grow up a little
Home becomes your bedroom
They usually let you have it just for you
That is where you are
Whatever your soul dictates

You are a woman
Now it is going to be rude
Because home is the sex of your man
And what feels good is the nude

You are old
Time has passed
With luck you walked instead of being dragged
Home is now your mind
If they think you live, they must see inside