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  • Writer's pictureIskandar Ruhaizat


The human mind's tested,

morals abated. Dulled.

The potter breathes into multi-cells.

Abort mission? Or soldier on?

Enter the rat race,

neglected peeled walls due

to surfing in the work pile

sucking up to Midas.

Microchips and nano bits

strong as a colony, easy picks solitary.

We trust them too much,

these WWW golden calves.

Worse than bankers;

once hacked, considered dead.

Shishi pipes filled with

various notes for the soul.

Exhale, tantamount.

Rise to the cosmos,

pluto cries. WRONG!

Claim astronomers.

What do they know

about X that I don't?

Lucifer's purgatory

pupal stage before damnation.

As the "rapture rapes the muses"

in unholy matrimony,

even nephilim's iron fist

can't clench the deluge.

And then, deafening stillness.

With everything in unison, monotonic

this monogamous cultural pot, and

yin and yang cracked and spilled

over, yolk and all. Duality arise:

so is it one identity or no identity?

Oh these grey areas.

Of shaded pastures under nimbus clouds

set in confounding metro maps.

So I skipped the grey and turn.

I never did find X's identity.

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