a condemned man!
welcome to the penal colony.
the scorching heat shall be
the punishment for your sins.
back there, in civilisation
you may have had a way with words,
but don't you expect mercy here
if you don't speak in the binary.
the creation of a text is magic,
dark magic you had trained yourself in.
it seems as though individual letters
were not enough for you.
we implore you to understand
that asking ‘Why?’ is the worst of crimes.
while we named phenomenons,
caught up with their nature,
your skills of description
have been reduced to metaphores.
while we were most precise,
you broke the rules of the past.
you studied murderous machines,
searching for a deeper meaning.
but theory is insufficient
when not applied to practice.
the knowledge of ancient rulers
takes up space for your own survival.
is your memory too good to forget?
don't pride yourself too much on it.
the cup of philosophy has overflowed,
your efforts were in vain.
this precise machine above your back;
you cannot philosophise your way out.
your wounds will be a reminder
that you ought to suffer for recognition.
that is, unless you, feeble thing,
ditch the humanities as a whole.
YOU ARE READING
The Jackdaw and Other Poems
Poetryas one grows up one tends to forget how one felt a couple years ago I am the same amount of a novelist as I am a poet between my lines I captured my emotional growth and the battle cry that I am back from the dead
