the art of becoming a terrorist
why is it now that the art of shooting. owning a gun and becoming a terrorist became easy that my heart insists on owning a gun and making a bomb for the reason i don't know. there is no war that resembles nor needs me out there. no peace. no country. no currency carries my problems nor needs out there. what can i do if my heart carries a loaded gun and my sadness bequit the trigger to my willing happiness -- a door too tiny for my elephant dreams dreaming he's an ant. can my physical self -- a therapy-less letters in each of my blinking eyelashes be there as a watchdog. slice open the heart of our backwardness the first thing you'll see are the haunting past -- each event a vampire with rust daggers cutting our memories open from inside. how can i define my god with the letters of terrorism. how can i say peace in violence when my peaceful la ilaha illallah muhammadur rasulullah was also an enchantment for murder. how can i be free if my definition of freedom is not yet invented in a language everyone understood. how can tell bullets that i am not a terrorist when the sky rain them -- dead above. since drone has no dna of terrorist where else can i run to. i am the soil -- a cemented freedom. is a clock that measures our lifespans a terrorist. is sleep a temporal death a terrorist. is @twitter a terrorist. is facebook a terrorist. is my name a terrorist. is my country a terrorist. these days everything is a terrorist. i don't know if this poem too is a terrorist.