Ti-Anna Wang


Ti-Anna Wang

There is a daughter who speaks about her father
As democracy once spoke for the people

Who are not deficient
They are not absent from their freedom

We live for purposes
And dreams like Chinese democracy

We were not born this way
We were moved by the world

To speak about injustice, human rights violations
We witnessed sacrifices for unspeakable courage

We are not martyrs, we are still fathers
Though imprisoned we dwindle in time

That spirit lives on like 1989
Whispers that China will shed One-State party rule

Warnings that the U.S. will reinvent tyranny
We are from both worlds, hospitable and ruthless

Male and female, politics is in everything
There’s no escaping corruption, revolution

Law, and the will for freedom is a will to power
And freedom is never free from inequality

There is no promised land of perfection
Only rudimentary ideas of what should be

There is a daughter who speaks of justice
And I cry for all the ways which we are
Enslaved, imprisoned, not free.

Ti-Anna, you are not a dissident
You are the heir to the new world
And it speaks Mandarin, and it’s free
Free in a patriotism of being global citizens

Free in the hope that our lineage leads
To a place where there are no dissidents
There is no abandonment, only people
Living and loving the only way they know how.

On the Elite of the Countries & Nations


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This world is full of undue significance
Values parodied and profit personified
It’s not sustainable and won’t last

It’s the receipt of doom before
Our last meal, the anarchy has begun
And I don’t even dream anymore

About getting married, having children
In a world like this, of extravagance
Where you or I are replaceable

Only existing to fuel consumerist growth
Art is dead, literature is in denial
The crickets still sing, the sun still sinks

But the world has changed
In bronze and blaze, in false media
And politics ripe with corruption

And leaders whom I can imagine
Have rhetoric of profit and change once again.

Psalm 16 – The Wealthy


O Lord, I have no personal cry
But this humanity deserves better
Than the fate it has made for itself
Concerning the works of men

Do not punish all who would suffer
The mistakes of the few, their leaders
By right of financial inheritance, this elite
Who do not follow the way of

Lovingkindness, but rather, seek to
Preserve their dominance, their imagined
Superiority, in a world that will change
Faster than they can age, O creator

I have no more prayers left for such
An existence as this world offers
The unfortunate, the poor, those born
In wrong countries, in places torn by

Greed for oil, or other commodities
The nations have grown weak in ecomony
And therefore perpetuate wickedness
In the shadows, in the board rooms

How shall we prosper when our own
Enemies are the leaders we have elected?
When our Governments no longer serve
The people, but the interests of the select?

Ebola, Puppet of Propaganda


The West African country of Liberia is crippled by a recent outbreak of the disease Ebola.

Ebola, coming from the Continent of our roots
The WHO is exhausted by your contagion
Nurses are leaving their posts, doctors are dying

What can contain exponential growth?
Not the money and debts of this bankrupt America
We print more money and expect
The world to stay the same, but it won’t
Not after you Ebola, a profit mechanism

Vaccines, for each strain and mutation?
Ebola, your incubation period is too long
Your death-conformity is too high

How can you possibly be natural?
Man-made, racially biased, targeting
The weak, the poor, the masses
Ebola, a colonial rampage in your DNA
I call your bluff, genocide, Genocide!

Obama doesn’t mind Ebola, flights stay open
New epicenters for outbreaks arrive
The pundits say it’s already too late

Fluids or air-droplets, both, who is to say?
The CDC seems strangely apathetic
The UN is oddly apologetic
Ebola, are you ready to decimate
The white man, as you have the black?

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global connectivity


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it’s survival here, nothing new
lungs knotted by thirst
sunheat in our heart, starving to belong

it’s corrupt the way
the social feeds are telepathic
last chance for freedom
not likely, when water goes on the stock-markets

I’m pinned by this world
like as the love for my criminal child
the kind of wound that

is never quite urgent enough to heal
but sticks around like deformity
“heal the world”, there are too many
bodies you say to feed the planet

it’s survival down here, at the ends
stomach growling to be someone
heart’s pitter-patter against the gloom

our fragility was really contagious
the world learned how
to suffer together, it was a kind
of progress, to realize we all belonged

to the same economy, a doomed currency
where the sun was thrown, raised and lowered
for the number of years we had left

before some tipping point of our anarchy
until we have to depart, to say goodbye
we make do, with teaspoons and testimony
with words from vague saints who were cripples

we learned to see, a bit of ourselves
in everyone who suffered, in how they fought.

art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Global-Warming-86554791

Last Protest Against Corruption


31

From the white podium
of my imagination, I sleep
with the dream language

of the rest of humanity
living in the republic of treason
In a world I no longer believe in

verily verily I walk the gardens there
where sarcasm has become the
dominant narrative for surviving

Nihilism, I look for the keys
Of revolution or change, but there
Are non here, politics has become

the language of mockery, infidels
the criminals who own us now
it is truly no evidence of a great soul

to live a long life here, maybe
withstanding these cruel games
From the white podium of my imagination

I have learned, how to die well
with my dream language
I trade in apparitions, and refuse
to live standing still like a dead beetle.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Anna-412756504

In The Burning Cosmos Nobody is Safe


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The old lights are broken
Politics, religion, corporations, nations
They have no conscience

Lawyers, bankers, profiteers!
Will from individual truth
Breeds corruption beyond repair
A system of mutual exploitation

This is the house our fathers built
Where wealth is invented and the masses
Are used as economic soldiers
To be sacrificed, replaced by robots

The lights are broken
Leadership, Presidents, News, Propaganda
Even the internet is being monitored
All your texts, every word

The Governments are turning on their people
It is legal to blind sight your own citizens
Who you are meant to protect, you rob

The old lights are broken
You might not realize, you might not care.

P.S. Inspired by my favorite wordpress poet, the brilliant psycho-political poet Alicakhoo