Truth is my Compass, & Wisdom my Helm.

once you know, you cannot un-know. once you have seen, you can never un-see. once you have allowed yourself to feel, you are freed from silence; for the submergence of one's truth only births havoc within the self.

If you voluntarily misplace your humanity, the divine does not dole out amnesty.

Zisa Aziza

Keep it pushing, pushing to where
Where you going, in a hurry

Pause my dear and taste the air
Have you seen the sky stare

Keep it pushing, pushing to where
Where you going, in a hurry

All in life is fine and fair,
But is it your own face you wear

Keep it pushing, pushing to where
Where you going, in a hurry

Sometimes the things we love we fear
But living lies is a slow tear

Keep it pushing, pushing to where
Where you going, in a hurry   


Only the blind
are apathetic

Believing their reverie
were an anesthetic 

The Harmony of Irony

All capital and wealth of this domain,
along with its kings and masters,
here shall it remain

Although I frolic in poverty,
my pride is the capitulant,
as my soul mocks the savagery

Within my being there is a fortress
of celestial reverence and transcendent abundance
that no earthly residence can dispossess

One World, Whose World?

Acquire control by means of division
Rebrand the enemy as an act of derision

ISIS, Ebola, and Climate Change
The linguistic manipulation is a cognitive exchange

CIA role play as terrorists–gleeful imperialists
Pervert the divine feminine to serve the globalists

Engineer bio-warfare to penetrate sovereign nations
Lend it the eponym of a river to compliment its permutations

Preclude the erratic behavior of the sun
Attribute extreme weather to the livelihood of everyone

As a deflection, racist is the new communist
Attacking the First Amendment as liberalists

Cherry the pie with Medicinal Cannabis
Legalize Same-Sex Marriage for emphasis

George Soros, a billionaire, funding whose revolution?
All this hocus pocus ain’t no convolution  


INCOMING: Secular Entities

As the ocean does not quarrel with the word of man,
Nor does the sky bicker with the sight of dust

A maleficent animation,
An illustration of spiritual calcification

I, the targeted abstraction
Of beneficent annihilation

When the dying are ignorant of their death,
Love needn’t forfeit, for darkness conquereth


The psychotic is a heretic;
either a lunatic, or a maverick

Pseudo-science pomposity and cosmic curiosity
embody etiological animosity due to imparity

When the world taste like
the blood of the Earth

Bearing the texture of skin
denying the adoration of sin

Adverting the celebration of killing
my sanity becomes unwilling

Optical splitting, interdimensional gritting
two eyes are no longer befitting  

Due Diligence

I wash my soul
in the river of my heart

To keep the seams
from ripping apart

Notes From My Inner-Therapist

You don’t go to: a factory looking for a creator; a butcher in need of stitches; a school in search of wisdom; a church to receive salvation; or desire nourishment from that which is emaciated.

Although you may journey from the desert to the ocean—in loops—with the thirst only starwater could quench, until you return to the soil, your soul must toil.


Heed thy mother’s horn,
Your soul thee warn

The Pope pimps the word of the Lord,
for he knoweth not the might of the sword;
only the lust of glory’s hoard

I’d rather go into the fire
having repented for living the life of liar

Than to go blindly into the heat
expecting a sweet retreat

And for ye who believeth the trickery,
history is a mystery made slippery


May I not burn the flower I wish to water with words sharp enough to slaughter.

Zisa Aziza