The Papyrus

In what reason why I’ve been slaved;
By the sequential pages;
Of those who have lived in the ignorance’s cave;
Was unfounded.
That compiled papyrus living on my shelf;
Mysterious thing.
Something I inherited from the very beginning.
The content has no ending.

It reads how grass mushroomed from nothing-
And how it’ll end.
On its existence have been uncannily withered;
And so the rain sent.
Preaching how to avoid the predestined wildfire-
Spreading forever.
Is to absorb the blood flowing from that wounded flesh,
And the tears of thunder.

Imposing rules ludicrous for the flock of witty;
Knowledge for faithful.
Though its words bear lies and corruptions,
Guns and gravestones.
Rooted under the black world of holy greed;
Monk of gruesome.
That has become the breath of the maker of kingdoms;
Life of religion.

The pages transmuted into a vague shape of mist-
Gone upward.
Projecting different faces of horrible creatures-
In people’s mind.
Ghost image of reality transcribe by a nomad-
Onto the scroll of illusion.
The smoke of its incense appeals to wondering cretin;
Delusion in motion.

Since my consciousness under the shadow of clouds-
Has been illuminated.
A light shines from the sparks of two rivaling questions-
Opens my head.
And taking away from that of sons of conventional;
Outrageous and fatal.
Waging war to kill tribal and racial dissonance…
That belief is detrimental..

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