“Conflict”
Cynicism corners collective consciousness,
clouding clarity, cultivating confusion.
Chaos creeps, crisis cascades,
chasing causes, calculating collateral.
Cameras capture curated carnage,
concealing cruelty, casting confusion.
Children cry, caught in crossfire,
collateral to commanders craving control.
Collapse, crumble, carry on—
can compassion combat cold-heartedness?
Commanders celebrate conquest,
constructing cages, cementing compliance.
Completely clueless crowds
chained in crafted chaos,
choke, craving change, cursing chance.
Contradiction culture conquers,
cheats, conceals, conspires with conviction.
Clueless crowds—
captured, cornered,
crushed in cyclical cruelty.
Children cry, caged, condemned,
collateral casualties of “conflict,”
coldly cast aside.
Celebrated commanders,
craving conflict, craving control—
controlling crowds, corrupting conscience,
carnal creatures, counting corpses.
Civilization,
consumed in cold calculation,
cancel culture, cursed by choice,
compassion condemned,
civility collapsed,
countdown complete.
Shimomura – (Transcultural)
My identity was stolen
by men with hostile hands
before I ever knew my name.
Neither I nor my parents
had a voice against the rule of the strongest.
Strongest for a day—just dust in the endless scale of life, the universe, and time.
I grew old,
grew victorious,
without a single blink of knowing—
what it means to belong,
to be granted acceptance
as a birthright,
as breath.
Would I still win,
if I were just wallpaper,
fading into the background?
Was it even a win
when the price was so high?
I dream of a night’s sleep,
wrapped in the warmth of entitlement,
a soft cocoon of certainty,
where nothing needs to be earned,
just felt.
What would I give
for the luxury of moving through crowds,
speaking effortlessly to strangers,
without cutting pieces of myself
just to fit?
What would I surrender
to fall in love
without losing parts of me
in the exchange?
And yet, a man is a man—
he carries both worlds in his chest,
When he dies, stars collapse into a black hole,
claiming cosmic justice,
fused eternally in his fire.
Love Entropy: Bending Space, Breaking Order
It was time to bring this love into daylight,
to pull it from the space between the lines
where it quietly bloomed in his comforting silence.
Would he find the right words now?
Would reality be too harsh for love in its infancy?
Has it grown enough to fight adversity?
Claim its place in days cluttered with grown-up obligations?
Bend when necessary,
wise enough to make the right call?
You’re afraid—
that bringing this love into the light
will repeat the failures of the past,
add another chain to your necklace of shame,
with the only and most merciless judge being you.
Will this love leave you even more childless in the end?
And what of my fear—
of missed chances,
but also of choosing wrong again?
Being sentenced to watch love reverse itself,
to the slow process of unloving.
Yet, I still believe in endless possibilities,
even though walking alone is safe and painless.
Can our souls handle the entropy of love once more?
Undoing the neat lines of routine
disrupting the cozy warmth that slowly boils the frog.
Love naturally moves from order to disorder,
converging into something new
as two distinct universes fuse.
This is no small thing.
Even nascent, it can reverse the first law of motion—
breaking inertia and the built-in resistance to change.
I believe in the shift,
a gravity so strong it bends space around us,
a love massive enough to change the direction of everything.