Biography of Shireen Ramadan
My name is Shireen 'Mocka'. I'm 23 years old & Egyptian, I graduated from Faculty of Arts English dep. on 2011. I worked in call centers field for 2 years & now I'm working as a customer service advisor in Sony UK based in Egypt. My poetry is mainly talking about those themes 'suicide, misanthropy, mythology, anti-religions, nature, cosmic dimensions, despair, darkness, evil, revenge, ...etc'
Shireen Ramadan Poems
The apple-eye in core ov sinful The crap ov external worlds in me Lingering on a planet ov walking Free me from the eye
I felt combining, born to sneak Beyond heavens, deities & dreams Beyond lost wisdom to be unshackled To smoke laeukemia preconceptions
Noble Savages Are Brains
1) I went in lunacy, lingering through The mob ov madness, in lustful dreams My animal stench is grownig foul
Diary Nosebleed Ii
I dreamed, I slain & fed upon flesh elegance I matched their odious standards for a second I was matched in amoral matrimony Without question I walked through men
Feed Me Opera! Thugs & Lycans!
Keep your eyes on the ground; I'm the force ov empty in your system. To germinate in a royal cavity, waste ov human gene. I'm a fleshy activated weapon in chains; I'm a slave to Shiva in mass destruction. Set me free; remove my shackles, in thunder ov bowels, for the cannibal deity.
Death has cursed us to live In simple phases & automised lines Bulimias upon the name ov labour Eating upon my own from sameness
Unfinished, Am I?
Humping dawn terminates the seven suns, I breed them circles, ambiguous plague, in cages, Bleeding a new born, in blood-soup ov the whites' burden, Blind me sleep & crush me intimidating,
Gallery Ov Moses
For the art ov mankind inside a gallery ov suicide, to spread the mange, for beings, solitude, in a childhood, to eat their children, Manna from heaven. In a wicked sorcery ov resurrection, For Muses ov gift to water the lands, soaking the knuckled in blood & words, depicting the era ov philosophers in dark, gallery ov angels, in Diaspora. Manna from heaven, in ashes ov raven, for the opera ov dark, crusts ov dry Moses. Sorcery ov Pharaoh, holding his rod, converting serpentine, magicians in loss.
Is it supposed to be ME unworthy All what's spinning in nowhere & no cause, reasonable Supposing 'REASONABLE' No walking ov value
I Look At her In That Paper Dress. I Wonder Why She Won't Burn. She's Just A Paper Doll, Thats All, Just A Paper Doll.
Blood mattress, bloody married To the fragile in his rot ov stench Bloody ruby for futile under cheese Scalp menstruated, I be the waste
I Passed The Cornfield
I passed my aeons ov chastity I saw the beast within I wrote cornfields in my brain backwards I wrote them & doomed the end
The only company is my screams in a dark mind ov fear Mass hearts from ashes, grinding his mercy Slaughtering me in numb fingers & comatose twisting belief Brainwashed in nerve fever, ov religious unclear
Poseidon In Morgue
She slapped the spheres of existence With thunderbolts escape She married Poseidon for living Shaping the morgue in everyone
Noble Savages Are Brains
I went in lunacy, lingering through
The mob ov madness, in lustful dreams
My animal stench is grownig foul
Who might be right in taverns beer
hello hello hello, how low? -3
Noble sufferings are my proverbs