Friday, July 4, 2014

The Fundistan Circus

I haven't written a poem since I was an angsty teenager. 

The other day, I had some random words floating around in my head. I tried to push them to the back of my mind, but there they were buzzing around, like irritating high-pitched mosquitos. Finally I sat down and spat them out. And then my brain was at ease again. 

Wtf was that after all these years? Who knows. 

Sometimes my mind has strange responses to Ramadan, when everyone's godliness comes out to play (yes I pronounce Ramadan with a 'd' because I grew up in Arabia, don't hate me). And don't get me wrong, I love OD-ing on samosa grease. Who doesn't. But aside from the post-sunset snacks its not a very comfortable time for me. This 'manufactured' annual ultra-religiosity is something I can't easily digest. 

Its not just Ramadan though, it's the general state of the motherland - the sweeping radicalization that's erasing all traces of our once colourful subcontinental culture.

From all the way over here, it really seems like some dark circus...too fucked up to be real. It conjures up visions of a macabre fair ground...

(*** indicate a change in speaker)

click picture to enlarge

The Fundistan Circus

A ringmaster with a turban
erases my bourbon…

He’s mad about swine 
better hide my wine. 

He’s an ‘honourable' man, 
doing whatever he can…

to rid the world of sluts and whores and women with feeling
The volume of prayer calls has my head reeling. 


***

You’re a filthy, filthy woman
we won’t use a gun. 

We’ll chop off your head, 
(not before we take you to bed) 

At this circus, 
the tightrope is where you live. 
The bearded man cracks a whip, 
till you’ve got nothing left to give. 



if you're draped in black cloth we can save your soul,
As long as you ignore that big gaping hole…
in our morality, 
would you like to see….

my cock? 

doesn’t matter, 
already hard as a rock. 

I’ll put it inside, so you can fulfill your duty. 
I like how this cloth covers your beauty. 

It’s mine to enjoy, alone. 
I can’t make you moan…

from pleasure that is. 

But I can make you scream, 
it would seem.
If you disobey me in the slightest. 

As a male, I am the rightest. 

These clowns at the circus do what I say,
I can push them around in any way. 

I speak to the skies,
and they are wise. 

There are voices in my head. 
Telling me to make you dead.

***

Come in, come in, 
please come in.
Enjoy the show, 
-segregated seats, though.

We cannot mingle, 
our genitals tingle. 
are you single? 

Join our troupe,
we’ll give you soup.
In the after life, 
we’ll find you a wife. 

The end of the show, 
we go out with a bang. 

Here put this on, 
It won’t be long. 
It’s just a vest. 
Then you can rest. 

popcorn for sale, 
it’s a little stale. 
But so is our tale.
Our snacks say Bismillah,
You gotta love the Shariah!  


would you like to believe? 
on this starry eve…
believe in magic, 
but the kind that’s tragic. 

It should wrap you in fear,
and extract all you hold dear. 

That’s how you’ll know
you’re enjoying the show! 

5 comments:

  1. I have a lost of respect for what you do. It's tragic that thought has been eradicated from the social sphere in this land.

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    Replies
    1. Haha ... um .... thank you? I'm not sure if you're saying that you have a lot of respect for what i do or if you've lost respect for what i do.... i'll take it as a compliment and agree that its really a shame that critical thinking is almost nowhere to be seen amongst 'blind' followers....

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  2. I am sorry. That was a typo. I certainly meant I had a lot of respect for what you do. :)

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