The wine trickles down my face, you sought to disgrace
Instead I take your ‘chosen place’ beyond the heavenly gates
To drink the wine with my beloved that doesn’t intoxicate
So I await the day of judgment to see the Ahlul Bayt…

But wait…

Will it be Intercession or a grand intervention…?
A reality check to the ‘so called’ victims of oppression
Those words written only for the hypocrisy that exists
The story of ‘sliced wrists’, and of shackles that now fit

Tamil refugees trapped in the fertile crescent, chained
So I can’t believe you when you beat your chest and wail for Hussain
I remember Jaan, Bilal, even the bloodline of Hajar
They are responsible for the prayers, the meek offer
Along with Sumana, Susan, and the eyes of Hakima
This train of thought is not the Zion or FEMA

You see…

Oppression is when your footsteps, cannot be heard
In places your mother bore you, or a flightless migratory bird
When your shadow is shackled, your breath incarcerated
When your dreams are murdered, imagination lacerated

No oil or diamonds to fund nonprofits to broadcast your story
Or shout outs by Amy Goodman, or a Papal stamped allegory
No presidential address, no parliamentary speech that stresses it
Yet women and children are undressed, shipped, in new vessels

To become the new slaves, of a new trade, on this new day…
So, I feel for Arab victims, but my criticism is not veiled
It’s direct against those that claim to be victims yet victimize
Like the Arabs that ensnare my  Pinoy and Malay cousins

And my Tamil brethren, or what Tamils do to indigenous tribesman
The cycle goes on… even though there is nowhere to hide from
The wrath that descends, upon the domes of the unrighteous
Inspired by these evil acts, I was forced to write this…