The canvas

I needed another rape or a gun attack

To complete the canvas.

But the brushes are busy painting

Something else that sells.

No, but this is the hot topic of hypocrites

That pushes the limits of hallagulla.

Even with my poor communication skills

I tried to convince,

Like the salesman who visited me one afternoon

When I was beginning to smoke my hookah

I didn’t even see what eureka

Of a product he was carrying

He might have brought a dead victim

But I didn’t check with him

He’d been trained to defend his deed

Much like those attackers planting the seed

Of deaths, of charcoaled breaths.

Alas! I knew I wouldn’t have to wait too long

To complete my canvas.

A rectangular page divided in two parts

The sky embracing the hills,

The meadow displaying the arts.