FIRE OF MOODS

  there was never a country. all that exist are just people who wake up every morning from scary nightmares, to witness more nightmares shatter their daydreams. there was never a country, but people who take selfishly from one another, that the rise to the top is a measure of the amount of dreams you can kill. there was never a country, but a people whose light is constantly blown out, till they are made to understand darkness and embrace it. there was never a country. all that exist are half-alive people, who searches the eyes of their kindreds for fear of finding their own death therein. there was never a country, but a gathering of corrupt representatives, who becomes the law to the masses and sentence them to death at their will. there was never a country. all there ever was, is a group of people who take turns to build castles in the air. #El_Magnifico™

  there are sorrows  living in places where joy should call a home. you are existence. but you have chosen to exist tense, and succumb to the pressure of merriment meant for leisure. that if we should draw multiple clocks, and set their hands to different cardinal points to predict your leisure time, they would all be correct. alcohol becomes your first name, for your belly has taken joy in gulping many mansions and toppling several streams your dreams could have rowed through. and I know a mad kin. he calls himself the father of enjoyment. he has commandeered many wives and mistresses, and have found resting place between their thighs, yet he never met satisfaction. I know another fraud, who wanders from street to street begging for cash to eat, but squanders them every time at the shore of drunkenness. and madness is mad at sanity. for how does a man wake to the rising sun, and decides to spend forty thousand on merriment, while his thumb constantly battles with his phone's calib

foolish years has rolled over the hands of time. for awe is no longer inspiring, and madness is a new shade of fun. yesterday, we were a light of hope, struggling with constant chaos believing a tomorrow would come to our rescue. but tomorrow slopes upon us, and leads our feet into thicker darkness, until blindness becomes our only vision. and the eyes are nakedly viewing a naked parade, of black shades twirling in red lights. the workings of stupid brains, awaiting the spark of violence to fly. but we were meant to find peace at the melody of chirping birds. but even the bird's harp has lost its piece from many reverberant tweets of insanity. our monstrous forms are full blown, in a circle of challenges and gloomy gaze. wisdom weeps alone for this generation of foolishness and shocking shades. for madness is a new shade of fun, and awe is no longer inspiring. foolish years has rolled over the hands of time. #El_Magnifico™  

  a boy is a battle. he is full of fight with many foes... within his eyes are the fierce frights that has built a heaviness upon his lips. of how Madam Monica modeled him into the giant pillar that holds up many spouses, and flood them with springs of satisfaction. one stroke... two strokes... three strokes... and a boy begins to choke till he becomes a monster made to feed on the groaning of a moaning girl. another boy, was a regular audience of a boxing match, between his father and his mother. and his soul has found failings in forsaking the way he was trained to grow. still he strives to melt his heart, and remould it beneath his boulder. and even I, was a boy, who was barely saved from a severe shatter. for she drew my sword and it stood erect, ready to kill. and but for the timely thunder that rose to my aid, I may just have been another lightning that flashes by without a voice to bare me open. but whom do we tell this tale to? all because a boy must be a warrior, he must stand

  I have seen archery at its best, And I have spurned some. Still the target is never true until the arrow is shot. A mad man threw a stone at a glass, And we think its target was to break it. But in his head, he's aiming at himself - the reflection in the mirror. A crazy cow is chasing a dog, And we think it has gone wild with dreams. But it follows the dog for directions to escape a slaughterhouse. He missed it! He missed it! So they say. But an old man told me that the target is what the archer says it is. I have seen archery at its best, And I have spurned some too. Still the target is never true until the arrow is shot. And if I don't hit the apple on the head, I just might have a bulls for the eye. #El_Magnifico™

    My soul will take flight, And reach for the clouds. Let my head be the price, I will gladly let it go. If freedom is on sale, I will be the currency.   Let my head be the price, I will gladly let it go. For our right is all we have left, And if none will walk west, I will. Let my head be the price, I will gladly let it go. That tomorrow I live long on men's lips, And in the tears of the unshackled. Let my head be the price, I will gladly let it go. I was born a comrade, And sacrifice is my greatest strength. #El_Magnifico™

  Sorrow was my companion, And tears my second name. But I will lose this friend, And change my name, For I am born again, And baptized by the will to succeed. Persistence will become my new name, And greener pastures my new companion, Even if it means giving myself away, I will with a smile on my face. I am the servant with a talent, But I will multiply it into billions. I am done hoping and waiting in tears, For heaven to come to my aid. This is how I will create my own heaven, And become my own god. #El_Magnifico™