Stop The Game, Master Man. Poem by Driss Ezzireg

Stop the game, master man.
Your strength is your weakness.
Your arrogance will bring your downfall.
Call out your devils to help you ill yourself, kill yourself,
Wound your conscience and demolish your soul.
Your gadgets will get you closer to your tomb
If you succumb to your desire to fire at your own expense.
Your lethal, fatal, mortal, suicidal bombs
Are evidence against you.
Your enemy is in you.
You calculate that if you eliminate yourself
Disguised in billions of different images of yourself
You will be making large profits that will benefit you,
Your family and your small community.
False calculations.
Stop the game master man.
You're making a monster of yourself.
Your thirst for more power, more enemies, more victims will,
Once you have 'cleaned' the earth off your enemies,
Lead you to yourself, to your family and to your small community.
You better make friends with yourself,
With the billions of yourself.
Work for your peace of mind.
Make commerce with your billions of yourself
To promote welfare and happiness in this world.
Your reward will be a crater of warmth of heart
And a quietude of spirit, a quintessence of bliss of soul
That no power of army nor amount of wealth
Can ever procure through thriving in death.
So stop the game now, master man.
Come belong to the community of Man.