"(politically-laced) Poems for the day of the dead"

"(politically-laced) Poems for the day of the dead"

"Blood and Iron, not blue or yellow ribbon"

The sounds of battle resounds tonight

As the news of people's hatred felt the order fear
With the thugs felt its tremor despite appearing strong
The final battle is ever near

The people had enough of peace, wanting to go beyond the wall
And tonight they want to storm the ramparts, storming hell they despise
As the palace complex immediately closes its gates
Expecting days and nights-cries of disquiet and rage

And those who plea for peace "cries for sobriety"
NO! said by the folk who demand liberty
That prayers to avert bloodshed is no use 
-for it won't stop fighting back against the order's blasphemy

Expect thunder of hatred, lightning of vengeance
Wind of mayhem blows over their forts and redoubts
Neither law nor heaven will save the goddamned system
With their dear leader-tyrant loses all control

Expect tanks and cannons turning against their users
Decaying flesh of murderers scattered over once proud roads
News reports about tyrants drowning desperate propagandas
As the folk themselves marching over to the center of doom

Blood and Iron, than blue or yellow ribbons
From the folk having enough of past sentimentalities
As they barge the gates and storming walls 
Entering the palace and overturning the throne

Victory is complete with the lead tyrant hanging overturned

"Silence in the Cemetery"

(Or "Thoughts after day of the dead
in the time of the pandemic")

Candles didn't lit nor prayers wailed in their graves

As darkness and silence prevails over sacred fields

Trees, grass, and moss cover the tombs and niches

As no one allows to enter this holy day

"Because of the pandemic" as what authorities say

to justify not enter the cemetery this sacred day

The way parties for all hallow's not allowed since yesterday

Still the moon laughs and whispers to spirits wandering away

For sure at homes they lit their candles and say their prayers

If not doing nothing, thinking as if nothing happened in their busy lairs

Authorities trying to control situations, all because of this pandemic

Or is it trying to avert the people's tremor that to theirs a coming panic?

For now I treat this poem a prayer for all the passed, fallen

A prayer for the spirits wandering, thinking about heaven

accompanied by a music, as hallow as a requiem

And lighted candles, incenses for the beloved departed and the victims of the dreaded system

"A modern day witch hunt"
(Or "Thoughts after the recent red tag on Catriona Gray")

Someone slander a maiden in the virtual square last afternoon
As if trying to burn a witch that thug in uniform slandered a maiden for singing a different tune
Just because she's concerned therefore was painted red
While the choirs of the rotting order singing against her dread

That maiden is of renowned beauty as the papers say
Having a crown in her head as she won from a pageant day
Magazines treated her a mannequin as one may describe
While men wooing at her as if she like

But because of her surroundings she voiced a concern
That for the order way different from queens commonly heard
And a thug in uniform, acting judge and jury pointing her, accuse
Along with others concerned as bandits, for a concern cannot refuse

Is voicing a serious concern, such as from a known person an act of subversion?
Especially in this time when threat and bloodshed has becoming a reason?
What more of a pandemic, or hunger, that shatters delusion
Brought by the order who while preaches change is but a reaction?

The reports remained fresh as thugs and slanderers remain
Playing the same tune that plays time and again:
Painting the concerned "red", crying wolves, and accusing them of crime
As if those from the past: preparing the stake and hay for the burning time!

But still the concerned cannot submit from their slander
Brought about by the thug who tries to defend that wretched order
That the folk had enough from the witch hunt they had brought
While assuming there is freedom when in fact almost not

That even those from the halls find cringe their fellow's thoughts
Thinking it spoils their agenda of destroying their foes
As instead comes the storm of heckles no matter apologists bleat
The witch hunt turns out to be against the attacker resisting the beat

Perhaps in this present time the order remains medieval
That for theirs an empowered folk means an action so evil
That the call for freedom and justice is an incantation cannot be tamed
But instead a spell for the order and its thugs end maimed

Wouldn't be surprised for someone all just because of being concerned
That they're willing to sacrifice beauty or fame so justice prevailed
Not even surprised they ditch a long-term fame for an eternal flame
The bejeweled crown for freedom, a lady to become a dame