In the bathroom
In the bedroom
In my room
Private …
I create, I write
A product, a market
A customer – take it
To your room
Private ….
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
Tag Archives: dramatic
Origin Of
If you start with a White you cannot create a Black
If you start with a Black you can create a White
The First Man was black
The first racist was brown
The first supremacist was white.
If God created Man in His own image
Then God is black
If you start with a man you cannot create a woman
If you start with a woman you can create a man
Therefore God is a Black Woman.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
Paki Corner Shop
Fatima Bhutto knows that your father
had her father killed.
And your mother knew it.
Do you know that your father
had your mother killed?
Your mother knew it.
In the instant the bullet entered her fatuous skull
In the instant her fat arse lost sphincter control…
She knew it.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
Princess Paki-Lover
The mother of the future king screwing around with Muslims
The mother of the future king being cocked by a Muslim
The mother of the future king sucking the circumcised knob of a Muslim
The mother of the future king marrying a fucking Muslim
The mother of the future king having the babies of a Muslim
The future king having half-brothers and sisters that are Muslim
The future : half-breed Pakis drinking tea at the Garden Party
The future : half-breed Pakis waving to our people from The Balcony
How can we stand by and let that happen?
How can we let Her House win in the long run?
How can we just hand over the loot of generations?
Then watch her draw Her Line in another direction?
How can we stand by and let that happen?
Nightmare : she gloats with power once her son is on the throne
Dream : we mourn over her coffin once we have cut her down
But how? How? Without a hint, a whiff, a whisper?
Above all suspicion, in plain view, not one pointing finger
Do it before she marries a camel-shagging sand-nigger Muslim
( At least the Bastard ginger is a genuine White fake )
Do it before she excretes a jiggaboo, or converts to Islam
Someone must royally grease the brakes
In the end she will be remembered for wearing a dress
She lived splashed by the Press and she will die flashed by the ‘Press’
To the Tower — No — take the traitor to the Tunnel …
( While the birth mother called her a paki-loving whore )
The death mother steered her towards the lucky 13th pillar
“Powers at work about which we have no knowledge”
Medics worked for forty minutes to doctor the carnage
Our ‘Man at the Scene’ scratched on her tomb
“She was not pregnant — I looked into her womb”
The fucking Pakis will be buried at her funeral
The rest will drive taxis, and pay us tax
We will wait for public opinion to relax
Her Golden Boy will be our crowning jewel
The Firm will go back to Business As Usual …
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
Godhead
Hold Conscious Thought the way you hold your breath
Do not think – hold still – let go
Subconscious will begin to flow
From the sidelines watch Genius play the length and breadth.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
Arrangements
She wanted him, I wanted another
But neither of us could marry our lover
Now we’re stuck … have to make do with each other …
We’re young, and living, but our lives are over.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
Betrayal
Carrying a bouquet I quietly opened the door
On the tip of my tongue,’Surprise! Surprise!’
In that instant my heart crashed to the floor
The room was full with your ecstatic sighs
You were calling and crying out for more
He was planted, and still digging, deep between your thighs
You had your loving cup poised to pour …
I will never forget the look in your eyes.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
My Bloody Pump
My heart is just an organ for pumping blood
Who made it an Authority on feeling Emotion?
What the hell does it know about Love?
Just a little muscle designed to circulate blood –
Damn you, heart, stick to your one and only function
Or I’ll tear you out and throw you in the stove!
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
After A Visit Home
Who knows England who only England knows?
Her highest mountain to me is a puny hill
Her weather? When it doesn’t rain it snows
And the English are wetter and colder still;
Till I saw you, Kashmir, I was blind
Love at second sight? I had forgotten the first
I never realized what I had left behind
My eyes drank you with an unquenchable thirst;
How can I stay in England now?
My job keeps me from the one for whom I yearn
Everything here seems to be empty somehow
Kashmir, I work for the day I can return;
Fly away forever from English bigotry and toil
I will never be content, or ever be happier,
Till the wheels of my jet finally kiss your soil
My beautiful, my own Kashmir.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
Nothing But The Sound
Speak to me and break this silence
Before it breaks my heart
Speak to me but don’t try to make sense …
All five of mine are senseless since she did depart.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
Free Kashmir?
Heated voices raised like the latest banner unfurled
Voices full of wind but like stones they are hurled
“Help to free Kashmir!” they urge and demand of me
Free Kashmir? … but Kashmir has always been free
It’s not the land but the people who are in chains
“Money is God”, they say, “Money can cure all known pains”
Everybody is up for sale, and aiming for the same goals
To line their pockets and safeguard their arseholes
‘Land of The Pure’ but the people stink to heaven
And showing a mirror to the common herd is an act of treason
‘Freedom’ the world over is just a façade
“Kashmir, only Kashmir” has always been Azad.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
Advise From One Who Regrets
Make hay while you may
Spring has such a short stay
Summer too will soon melt away
Ripe fruit will fall and decay
So listen well to what I say
Your youth will soon fade away
If you don’t make hay while you may
You will regret it to your dying day.
(c) Satori Publishing, 2013.
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