Buried Bones Poem by Hanan Muzafar

How the evil grows,
The conflict within mind,
Even if not incising others,
But murdering themselves.

Their proud disbelief haunts them,
scared of their own selves:
A mourning without sorrow,
I see them in eternal agony,
and their blasphemy fails miserably,
Again and again.

When wisdom becomes curse,
Ravens tear flesh;
The urge of siprit,
to bury bones:
Adored hate,
and revenge seeks its way.

Up the evil,
devils swallowing psyches,
and I waged a war,
Chosen for wrath:
The river making its course.