Various Poems

8. deafening_echoes

The dying screams are the only audio I would not like to hear
Onlooker's screeching that bothers me at night
The sirens, the deafening echoes, the warnings and whining
Ragamuffins begging for scraps in the streets
'Cause their houses were intentionally burned to get the will and the deed
The suffering perdure to the extent of indissoluble
The truth of the fire has disappeared like a popped bubble.

They limn the megillah meticulously
The writers from the gazette are timid and  faint-hearted
'Cause the Mafia has guns retargeted at their heads
Their impunity is ornery and hereditary
A syndicate of hotshots that are just sycophants who are toady
Turbid mouths and rancid breaths
Their unthinkable crimes still underwhelmed the clergy
Voracious punks, cognoscente of blood and gore
It's hard to catch them red handed for sure.

Police sirens making deadly melodies in the outskirts of town
Nebula of extra judicial killings and steers the public opinion like a frown
Abhorring innocent adolescents instead of taking their own down
Real addicts will never be arrested 'cause some policemen are afraid to let go of the crown
Wilted the society's trust to the youth and letting them step on our gowns
Don't need the habeas corpus 'cause there will only be an early execution than imprisonment.

Ambulances making the symphony of death
Medical facilities are pivotal to their survival
But it isn't enough 'cause nobody's paying attention to the patients
Physical and mental health is a necessity for tomorrow
The lack of it just leads us to forcibly say goodbye to the ones who do or don't want to go
I'm febrile to the contamination of hopelessness
The health of the less fortunate on the mountains
Are left behind like our deference
Sere dreams like the drought at the rice fields
Nobody knows how organoleptic the future is.

Prepossessing smorgasbord for breakfast
Prejudice buffet for lunch
Bittersweet steak for dinner
Is enough to feed the guests that are lamenting my upcoming death
The wake is scenic and seminal
No one knows where do I go now
I may be demonic or ethereal
I have to break the cycle or my legacy is penitentiary
Thee three echoes and sirens may be the cause of my death
Framed and killed, burned like the fields, or bedridden and never be healed
So the sirens, deafening echoes, caveats and whining
Will continue to haunt me to my death night 'til morning.