Slaves Of Ourselves Poem by Aedea Sullivan

No chains, no whips, no tortures.
Paper means nothing to rapers.
Who´s the prince and who´s the pauper?
Those yellow, red and black barbarians
have emerged from catacombs,
fighting with no weapons, no blades, no bombs.
Beware,
a silent war´s overcoming us
and yesterday´s slaves will be tomorrow´s masters:
those dragons, tigers and lions
have run faster than the gazelle.
Time will tell…

-谢 谢 Xié Xié.
- न म स ् त े Namaskaram
- Asante sana!

Paper power is coming to an end
and a great wall is surrounding us all.
Please, don´t laugh at the rich Emperor´s clothes.
Welcome, wealthy mandarin!
Colour doesn´t matter if it smells of gold…
The greedy elephant exploded over the mob.
You broke it, you bought it.
Look at those three wise men coming again from the east.
I am Shem. I am Ham. I am Japhet.

- Who knows where the north star is?

Everybody has dreams and paradises with different names.
Are you going to Firdaws, Vaikuntha or Heaven, sir?
Let´s listen to hopeful new voices from Babylon.
Who cares about the Big Bang …?
For a baby its mother is all its universe.
When the blind white man recovered his sight
he saw his wife was brown and pregnant.

-Too late, babe, too late.

Six, six, six,
Samson destroyed the pillars of Wall Street.
We had to trust those legal thieves.
Manipulation got its bitter reward.
Cameras in every corner for our security.
Yeah, a good excuse, boss.
I control you, you control me.
You can buy my body but my soul is not for sale.

- I´ll show you my face under the veil.

A giant yellow stream is overflowing the pale territory.
Noah, Noah, where´s your boat…?
Hidden hands, hidden eyes, hidden tongues
moving the stupid marionettes of the past.
A black high tide floods over the marble city
in echoes of justice or revenge, who knows?
No more blood, no more blades, no more blues.
A gentle kiss.

- Take off your gloves, my queen.

Bronze, topaz and azabache skins.
All corpses stink the same
and all skeletons look like ivory bargains.
Bones, bones and bones scattered across
the desert battlefield.
Only death is fair, said the grinning skull.

- Whose do you think it was?
- Nay, I know not.

Paper money can be torn or thrown to flames.
Same crowns for different kings.
The white era is over looking for nothing
in its empty pockets.
He offers us rainbows with colors of precious stones,
jasper, sapphire, emerald, jacinth and amethyst.
Too late for action…?

- I asked you for love, not compassion.

So many peaces broken into pieces.
And God is forgiving once and again
his Peter, his Thomas and his Judas Iscariot.
They still adore their old deities
while we are worshiping millions of gold calves.

- When will you learn?
When will you learn?
Will you ever learn…?

A young mom is lulling her baby under an ancient baobab.
The bamboo boy is listening to the Beatles,
“Love, love, love…”
while playing his thousand drums,
dreaming of a new land for everyone.
Words, words, words…

- I could do nothing but obey.

They´ve been collecting
precious stones in rivers of hope.
As fat Epulon was falling,
they were climbing step by step on tiptoe.
Maybe they will love us more than we have ignored them.
Who´s guilty and who´s to blame?

- Bwana, you taught me how to play the game.

Children of poverty
fed by their faith, their hunger and their desperation
have been crowding the earth.
Their mothers had no money for abortions.
Wombs on sale and tumbs rented
for a cheap rest.

- Madam, I change my marbles for your gold necklace.

¡Ah, aah, aaah!
Buddah, Allah and Jehovah have a secret meeting
to decide who will throw the dice today.
One tree, two towers, three thrones.
Hosanna, Obama, Hosanna!
While the mob is singing,
be ready to be nailed to your cross.

- Father, forgive them,
for they know not what they do.

Slaves of ourselves
in search of a false freedom.
As Cain and Abel are sniffing cocaine,
new crowns are prepared to rule our kingdoms
with Superman and Hawkins tied to their wheelchairs.
Tattoos and piercings adorn pale skins:
one more sacrifice for progress and modernity.

- A ticket to hell, please.
No return. Heaven is overbooked.

Many live in Sodom, many in Gomorrah and only a few in Zoar.
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
We do not want the ruins of our Roman Empire to be restored.
Never again.
Just believe in that white horse
who won´t be scared by the snake.
Behold and remember,
truth and faith are walking … trotting … galloping from afar.

-Ephphatha!

The thirtied day of september two-o-o-eight.
I´m no prophet,
just a poor witness of change
ready to die in sweet oblivion…

- Eli Eli lama sabachthani?

Aedea Voice - © 2008