one could see

a deprived childhood

an absent father

lack of attention, or

too much of it

only to be lost, or

be acquired; so suddenly


a collapsed ambition

like wasted and lost interest

in bunkers time; out of focus short changed

unable to see as far; for as long as could be imagined


he; it might as well be a she

so naturally

for tyranny; is a human trait

a tendency; prone to no pruning


the seed of which is planted; so early

where there are no contours; of control

just a sewage of waste

a map without paper to unroll

a frightening thing; to imagine

for anyone could be

a capable culprit; of becoming


not me!  one might say


over my dead body! one might think


that is the way it is; has always been

what tyrants do; under cover

as if the body is never their own

they always dupe the other; behind a banner

prone to commit an injustice

atrocity never seen

any act that restores that lost attention; they crave

to the grave

to be whole again

to recover

the imagined loss


tyrants are made

they dough in yeast

they are bred and baked; kneaded

by social norms; that tend to need

that somehow configure; a tyrant

to control their own excesses; or

recesses; they go to sleep

start day-dreaming; and dealing


in the meantime; a mini-tyrant

a hybrid; like a genie inside another bottle

ferments; goes on brewing

inside the subconscious mind

that went to remembrance


to the day of the holy

to holiday

to bye-bye; to bygone time

while a collective tyrant

a prototype of a bully extraordinaire

emerges; in deep sleep

after the mid-night hour

fuelled by wishy-washy wishes

unfulfilled dreams and desires

with sleepy citizens; deep in pain

in uncharted waters


and the bully; like a snake in the undergrowth

sneaks through; behind a hedge

starts playing; childish games

games that seem; mole hills to some

or mountains to others


it is fun; they say

enjoying the grotesque show-time

all around; in the play ground

still asleep; dreaming in dreamtime

not knowing; totally unaware

a tyrant is in the making; brewing

in gangs; like butterflies out of cocoons

and not; the other way round


as nature tells

whenever the sun rises

the moon subsides

as mercury rises

sun rays glow

long before anyone could wake

a personification; of unconscious drives

of unidentified creeping humans

attached to a collective unconscious

in need; for more attention


collection of taxes; yet unpaid

ignored in due course

have emerged to claim

what wasn't; duly theirs


it is not a school-yard anymore; mind you

not a home-front either

this time; it is a nation state


of millions of people; of power gone berserk

full of hungry children; lost souls in the land of nowhere

that just woke up from dream state; in need of care

or; if at all

protection from some nightmare

for some form of control


while able citizens therein; some claiming

it's got nothing to do with them

nothing to do with us; with our making



owning and denying; all in tandem

even them had no control

of a childhood; they had forgotten

they have become adults

behaving; pretending to be children

we claim no responsibility; they say

and we know….


sorry; they say again

as if, they knew nothing

and we are….

so sorry, they repeat

we were only children


he was like a father to me

says one

just like my mother; taking care of me

says another

all terrified; deep inside

by a nightmare; that was supposed to be

a dream; for all time

all made real; as real as you can read on screen

in front; almost an upfront scream


we could never have imagined

said the adult-children; not knowing

that absolute lack of imagination; turned

their bully; to a tyrant

but now; again seeking

in unison

still in search of wasted attention; dead cruel ignorance

for an invisible presence; an absent father

combined with a mother

to whatever kind of national violence

that gave birth; to a future of obsolescence

to lost interest; in the well-being

of their own off-spring

that; in its own turn; gave birth

to further develop

another atmos-fear; of bullying

for another tyrant; in the making


maybe we are all tyrants

in our own small ways

maybe it is just a question; of degrees

of power that lacks distributions

power; so prone to concentration

to power camps; to cloned orders

from on high; to the ground

so entrenched to tendencies


like a roller-coaster that went off rail

to broken bolts; gone nuts

that gives us a joy ride; in mid-day

to doomsday; to a camp of denial

to long forgotten; dens

of trench warfare; and no promise of welfare


so there we go; tomorrow

and here we are; today


it is your call!

your shout!

your scream!


Gabriel Guangul

26 July 2010


(Written in 2003, upgraded for 2010)