A monster zionist who deserves the death penalty for his crimes. You will be
He speaks with the demeanor of someone with fond memories of a Genocide.
A monster zionist who deserves the death penalty for his crimes. You will be
I will never forget the Nazis, and I will never forget the Genocidal israelis.
I will never forget HIND RAJB.
Follow this account and donate.
TOGETHER WE WILL MAKE THEM PAY. SHARE. DONATE.
If the israelis are like us, let's watch these human beings starving to death.
Remember US? We are the ones giving you BILLIONS to kill Palestinians and Arabs throughout the Middle East.
israelis are not Jewish. israel is not Judaism. israel is to Judaism what the KKK is to Christianity.
WHY ARE WE FINANCIALLY SUPPORTING THIS INDECENT SOCIETY?
PS. Next time, remind these useless people that we are paying for the clothes on their backs; without us, they would no longer exist.
Her contract was canceled because she is against the killing of our fellow human beings. Let's do our part.
FOLLOW HERE on INSTAGRAM and BUY anything she releases independently.
There is always a song to be sung
and I surround the one on the stage
crowding him, reminding him
to sing, to dance, to pretend...
There is always a road:
speeding trucks, weaving cars
leading to me.
I like the fearful,
the devotees...
I smile at them, my Mona Lisa smile,
as they beg the Lord for forgiveness,
for inspiration for clemency;
if he listens, if he cares,
if he inspires,
itʼs well beyond my care.
Clemency, he has none to give,
for I am forever inspiring and certain.
There is always a thing or two
that one can daily do to forget;
and as they do, religiously,
time takes them by the hand
and delivers them all to me.
The soulful,
I take away
in majestic strides,
as the courageous
I sit beside,
as they drive their cars
hundreds of miles an hour
over a cliff, against a tree.
The uninspired
I arrive late to collect,
in their forever muted state
they go peacefully,
in their sleep.
There will be people there,
crying.
I come, collect them, and move on.
As I walk away with them
I see a building,
an unfinished fence, a lovely garden
that reminds me of someone.
Step by step, in my feather shoes,
I tip-toe on the others:
the passionate,
the inspired,
as they put the final touches
on their latest creations,
as they begin their opus.
We walk away together
and I hear their passionate tales
of their unfinished masterpieces:
a beautiful painting,
a beautiful score,
a perfect quilt,
the first typed pages
of a new novel
that would inspire millions.
A late afternoon,
an early morning stroll,
is always better
accompanied by someone
whose time has run out.
I watch them
passionately describing
how grandiose it would have been:
they are still focused,
strangely connected,
eternally unaware,
forever dreaming,
and I am the one destined
to exist only in their stories,
and the wondrous promises held
in their unfinished work.
On rare occasions,
I read over their shoulders
and find absolute beauty,
and I wait, teary-eyed,
ignoring the clock,
until the lead marks the paper
one final time,
one final note:
The end.
They see me
and acquiesce;
I take them away
into the night
quietly,
I know I should feel betrayed
but genius is rare
and mediocrity makes me forgotten.