Interrogation, outmoded,

the demoted torturer

suddenly realises,

Google surmises,

taxation – a myth

we wish

did not exist.




Given Voice

The magician that is memory,

listens to old laughter,

remembering rudimentary lessons

that were taught but never learned,

teases the dreams from an alternate reality,

and feeds them into recollections,

making it impossible to discern

where the myth fades, and the man is earned.



When I am a relic,

my life become yore,

young gods will wake

and whisper of war.


When I am a memory

you cease to explore,

your gods will take

their leave like before.


When I am a legend,

grief’s guarantor,

the gods you forsake

will forgive the flaw.


When I am a myth,

dismissed and no more,

old gods will break

Like waves on the shore.