DAPoliticalForum

They say the skies of Baghdad are burning, those mighty palmtrees bleeding in the heat. They're showing pictures on the television, women and children dying in the street. Now were still at it in our own place, still trying to reach the future through the past, still trying to carve tomarrow from a tombstone. But hey, don't listen to me, because this wasn't meant to be no sad song, we've heard to much of that before. 'Right now I only wanna be there with you, till the morning dew comes falling. I wanna take you to the island, and trace your footprints in the sand, and in the evening when the sun goes down, we'll make love to

In the throes of passionate decline, I weep the bloodshed of my days of past; weep them as I recline, sobered, on this bed. The minutes, the memories no more, reflect off this mirrored present; two-fold in their intensity, they eat of the reserves of the energy lent. And those tears of blood seep through unseeing eyes, which gaze upon a sight unseen, into a tormented soul that slowly dies.

How lovely of you to drop in How glorious, how kind We expected your visit long since Prepared ourselves, hope you don't mind. We would have cast out that carpet red We could have made a feast For now, please accept "our deepest regret"* To you we must seem like such a beast. How lovely of you to drop in How glorious, how kind We'll now paint the town red, Oops! Forgot. The town's red with the destruction you've left behind. We would have returned the favour We could have sent you our best But forgive us if we savour These five minutes of rest. Though… We will be here for your next round We can survive your blitz But one

Shards of daylight cast shadows across Beirut as monuments to "freedom, democracy and liberty" spring out from underneath the ground from whence they were borne. I stare into the deep darkness of what is now hope wondering who will cast the first stone in defense of tolerance and patience and unity and of home. We hold hands, exalting our one-ness, delirious with the joy of rapport; yet, the moment I turn away I feel adrift, lost in a sea of indifference. And when I turn back, I see you bobbing in relief amongst your own and I realize it never was more than a union of convenience and tomorrow they'll tell us who to l

Here's a little story about our neighbouring "friends" I'll stay away from the gory though you'll see how this ends. First there's our Daisy she's really lots of fun; her mind's kinda lazy she's been out too long in the sun. First she screams: Send the Arabs back to Arabia. Then she hollers: Israel, defend our land! The only problem with all this is she's got Internet access from the kitchen from where she does most of her bitchin', and, to be honest, her cooking's probably really bland. Then there's little Bridgette who shouts in CAPS; she's probably a midget her self-esteem crap. She posts: Islam is evil! She writes:

In the struggle to be someone I want I struggle to be someone I'm not So I kick off the bedsheets, frantic while nighttime pounds my hull like a rusty anchor bathed in green phosphor, the curse weakens shrouded as if in caustic, septic, skeptic under the ice like a sleeping fish uncomfortable in my own skin while horse latitudes nip at my heels, I want to sleep, but I can't Because I know where daylight will lead me and it does as it always does, like dozens of little miracles all stitched together in a daisy chain of my own design, I let go and I reach for one, which always leads me to the next and the next one always prom

London of the fifteenth century. Cobblestone alleyways, flickering oil streetlamps, elongated shadows. A tentacled fog, spreading ink, running like wine through the streets. Yet in the midst of this enigma, the great Renaissance was spreading. In a shuttered little barber shop, two surgeons were bickering over the bald head of the customer. Said the skinny one: “But I’m sure it’s ginger you’re supposed to mix in! I just read a new pamphlet about how it stimu– ” “You lie. It’s clover and cinnamon. Parkins is a doctor and he said so himself. Clover makes the hair grow and ginger makes the hair turn whi

I was walking on the streets of heaven when I saw an old lady sitting on the roadside helplessly in extreme suffering. I thought the children who have forsaken their mother in such cruel way deserve the raging fires of hell. She was partially bald. She had wrinkles all over her face and sunken eyes. When I approached her, she took her face away from me. I tried to look her closely and was shattered into pieces because of the shame I felt. She was my mother earth and I couldn't even recognize her because of her such miserable condition. I couldn’t believe that what I had started ignorantly as a part of industrial revolution was carried fo