LIONS OF THE LEVANT,

THE BIRDS OF PARADISE

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I'm in awe of Birth to Martyrdom 

I live in a world of lies that call themselves men 

they sit about big round tables in secured rooms

pressing and holding down a button smiling

cunning to rush death

they scroll social media feeds, block and ban people who disagree with them

on a good day, they get to do a few PR events and send TikTok dance reels to their friends

I live in a world where lies require press secretaries to speak for them

they are actors, impersonators who call themselves men

they'd wear stilettos on a world stage, nails done and lipstick smeared

and still, they would not be women

where I come from, from the nation of men,

we call these ignoramuses, cowards, flimsy spider webs

"men" who can barely pick up a pen, never-mind a sword,

ride an Arabian stallion or fight for something with a gun in one hand

defending their children, women and land

they are at peak "manhood" when they throw billion dollar bombs from the sky

and even then I bet they close their eyes

splitting atoms, ancient trees, ending bloodlines, taking our elderly, women, children and our men

envy is the root of this affair that started way back when, with Adam

I come from the nation of men, who crush idols

who have children

who have wives

who have purpose

family, neighbours and friends

I live in a country, with a leader who thinks himself a man

a "man" who has never been on the frontline, facing death like a lion

who's terrified of a ten year old boy with a rock

mark my words, rocks will soon be banned

he is incredibly adept at reading off a teleprompter 

and dedicated, he can stay up all night,

up till dawn with Diddy's friends 

at Pharaoh's house

also Epstein's homestead 

I saw "him", scurry in fear of the possibility that an enemy drone might be near

rodents don't die for anything 

that role is exclusively just for men

my ancestors were burned alive by one of these button pushers

it was televised

and this fool, that may just make mayor went along with it

whistling, as he strolled, lollipops in his hands 

sticky lips, sticky fingers

and you all believe that this is a man?

all of it is fake, worse than a mirage

like their drug dealer healers

fluctuating rules

keep up keep up don't ever turn anything off

the 24 hour 6 o'clock news

marxism or neo-liberalism, libertarianism, super duper capitalism

pick one, red, green or blue

everyone of them shackled,

to busy to notice drinking beer and entertaining themselves

I cackled when I heard the one about a lion in women's clothes

hiding in tunnels and in a far-off mansion counting billions of dollars

his wife supposedly carrying a Hermes through tunnels

this loonie toon projection is just another easy example

every accusation is a confession 

these fat fingered folks can't fathom what it is to be a man

this is western mass psychosis

as they campaigned against the feminine

they noiselessly lost all their men

they can't stop

it's as if the machine has overtaken them

the plant manufactures epic tales based on true stories of real men

and then they pack theatres in this insane asylum

it's a spell, that makes them believe the resistance

are the cowards barricaded and bunkered with button-fingers

to whom they write all their cheques

they cosplay heroes, play video games for hours on end

I get it, it's a type of sick subsistence

they're chasing this one unfulfilled wish, to feel something like a man

and here we are my loves,

my people, within the nation of men

with access to The Reality

that fountain of youth

the ultimate elixir these cretins are on the hunt for

bomb Al Sham for

want Al Quds for

and regardless of what they do

they will never have

destined for hunger, perpetually empty-handed with multibillions in their vaults

the scent of musk they can't detect isn't blessed upon them

they will pound the centre of the earth to unearth the desolateness of their own selves

while they bomb every tomb and temple they are blind to the immensity of the river

The water, Al Hayy,

We, the nation of men

will drink from Our Beloved's ﷺ hand

for whom mountains quake, with love

and of course, all this is written

We are the nation of martyrs

when they are called home, our lions leave this sorry place to fly 

the pen has been lifted, it's in motion still, like the birds

the beautiful Simurgh of Firdaus