No, I’m Not Silencing My Voice to Strengthen Your Lies

Aza Y. Alam
3 min readNov 29, 2022

Breaking with the Intergenerational Command Chain of Parasites’ Hate

Photo by Darius Bashar on Unsplash

Y’all ‘fast’ without repentance
Merely swopping your feeding time
For one month you eat from dusk to dawn
Your delusional subterfuges are echoed
By the lazy, obese, multitudes
The ease of booking polluting planes to Mecca
Y’all think counts as a pilgrimage
You’ve twisted the meaning,
For there’s no self-discovery
With your ill-gotten gains, paving you all the way
You arrive in your caravan of life-killing comfort,
To circle a black rock, guarded by black-robed
Killers and jailers of the truth-seeking men, women
And children, taking hostage of the future,
Y’all may put on a white cloth,
Chemically-cleaned of blood splatters, then
Mutter Arabic-sounding spells
Five times a day,
Y’all may praise yourself as virtuous
As you ally yourself with the most lethal,
Predators dropping bombs on their neighbours
Parasitically living off the hard labour of
Hard-working brown people, from the Philipines
And the lands of your ancestors in India
Bangladesh and Pakistan
You people from the ‘Land of the Pure’
Tell me the truth, tell me do you fear
To be alone, for you might hear
The whisper of your long-buried conscience?
Y’all have stayed stuck for years and years,
In the yarns of your own making
Like the proverbial witches’ brew
You each took turns to simmer and stew
Y’ all took turns to ignore,
Slander, and exclude me,
After you were done taking my trust-filled support
Your rotis were wrapped up
In double standards, I see
The more schizoid you became
The less you can be in touch
With your deceit-laden shame
As you teach your kids to
Cast your excreta upon my name
It really became, a nasty kind of a … game!
To cast me out of the family tree
But when visitors come,
Y’all smile sweetly, serving tea
Hiding your brutality
Like spit mixed in with the sugar and the milk
Well, I always knew that I didn’t belong
See, I saw even before you,
Your closest relatives are
Who else but the black-robed
Killers and jailers of my tribe of
Truth-seeking men, women and kids
Most of us scapegoated,
Isolated without rule of any law
Getting stoned to death
Cut to pieces like Khashoggi
Or buried alive by you and your kind.

Aza Y. Alam

Exploring the entanglements of gender, race and class during this era of the Eurokleptocene. Let’s do better, one story, one learning, one comment at a time.