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Dehumanisation of Humanity, Volume 1 Released

natural justice, purpose, meaning, rationality, morality, equality and liberty!

"People are free because they are equal and they are equal because they are free. Without equality in existence liberty can not exist, and without liberty in existence equality can not either. This is the rationale, in which, a new civilisation must be born to replace this uncivilised, ruthless and brutal system of so called civilisation; that is based on power, rooted in money, owning, winning and pride, that is expressed and exercised in the fiercest of competition and, that is run like an excellent machine, and that tries to put the mask of ration in the ugliest of irrationality and, that waters and nurtures inhumanity and bars all the avenues of human potentials to be-to be free and equal and to live and  deny to accept a state of merely staying alive."

Dehumanisation of Humanity; Volume 1

The Love Song of Lazarus Imsanlucius Eponiafrock

(After T. S. Eliot: a tribute)

''Hokisna donum I shosama yona hokisna muchim lusim formamain
thista awsamara harikenadi enta iminam hartsimsi I itim onlisan
megnetaisama iminim aquan totum flowinia entotum an haistimsi

lunataidim sarklisamain yona entotum an sonarlusong enta
mauthsoo ofso tham gashramain rivaranium risuamain
totum tham osanoma ofso lusim itim yona arim! Itim yona arim!''


Let us bell the feet, Alpha and Omega,
When the esplanade is melting in moon light
Against the glistening mist over the unrestful rising sea
Unlike daily bloods on the aprons of beer-face-nurses
Let us walk through the sure bloom of silicamond radiance
The restless rebound
Of the tangled up tight-nights of despair or drinks
And of made up cheap champagne-myths
And the clichéd feel-good dead fishes
Where streets that run like dark banana skins
Waiting to take us all in a free fall of doom
Of no rise up of incisement or intent
To lead you to a Himalaya-question:
Yes, oh, yes, do not forget to ask: ‘What if?’
Let us just go and grab and sip our visit


In the King Midas market people buy and sell
Talking of ghosts and demons not Sistine Chapel


The dark bird-pooh-map on car-bonnets on Barking Road
The winter’s dust-bayoneted smoke rises and risks a response
Dead seed falls back broken like Jack’s Bean’s Stalk on stalking evening
Lingering in the breath of the shadow of recounting the magic of the origin
Let just dissolve upon this areal river through the crack
With a duo-flight with our torch of touch in December night’s disk
Mark some teacups with eponium touch and cascade in sleep

And indeed time, will there, roll
For the dark bird pooh-map on car-bonnets on Barking Road
Dead seed falls back broken like Jack’s Bean’s Stalk on stalking evening
There will be time, time there will be
To prepare make up to make up with made up faces
There will be time to mark and make
And time for all that shape ups and numbers in fingers
That fountain into questions on your palms
Time for Alpha and time for Omega
And time yet for hundred inkissments
And for a hundred drafting and redrafting
Before the taking up of the tea-walk


In the King Midas market people buy and sell
Talking of ghosts and demons not Sistine Chapel


And of course there is to be time
To ponder ‘Not if but when and how?
Time to bring back and ascend the sky
Even when a bald-spot grew in the bare lawn of my lost hair
(They will say: ‘How, bare his roof is looking!’)
My marked suit, still mounted tightly to my shape
My you-choose tie and modest but it has a song-like glow
(Even when they will say: ‘But how his scarred arms and legs are failing!)
And yes, without asking
I will disturb the peace of the Universe
In a minute I will reverse the time
For an Alpha and Omega rise

For I have kwon it all already, lived them all
Have known all events of times and their shapes
I have refused to mark out life with bent tea spoons
I know the voices dying without a dying scream
Out of the spread of all the markets
And yet I always dared and will presume

And I have loved the eyes already, loved too much
The eyes that fix one in a foreseeable magnificence
And when I am found in the spread of the shape and I am rising
And when I am being drunk like silver-moon-light-wine
Even when I am pierced in the middle with a knife
When I am stuck and bleeding on the table
Even then I will presume
And I know where to begin

And I have seen the arms already, known them all
Arms that wrapped in bare accessories dried dusty dates
(But in the club-hub-dub drowned in sweaty lights)
And the smell off dresses
That made me dive out
And even then I will presume you
And I will always know how and where to

Shall I say, I have walked through light-livened streets
And watched the smoke making your heart in white in the sky
Of lonely cloud-roses like my heart leaning towards you

I should have been a Forest Ranger
Breezing through the grass like dew wet rays across moonlit mist

And the time after morning, the time following dusk, forms peace a flower
Woven though fountain-fingers of magnetism
Sleeping--- napping or closed-open
Like you on the carpet here beside Alpha and Omega
I shall, after the car and cakes and running a-mock
Have strength to frame the moment into a bloom
Though I have bled and swallowed hunger, wiped salty water and prayed
Though I have seen my head (reaching out to slight boldness) on the market stall-plate
I am no Jesus- and here is no great fete
I have seen the moment in the crystal in condensed water in frost-icicle the road-end
And heard the call of being called back any-soon
And in an i-space of time I was a bursting bubble

And would it have been merry, after everything
After the breathing songs of tides, rides of cars and roses
Among the imsleys and crocuses, among some sonar connections between Alpha and Omega
Would it have been merry
To have caused tears off the matter with a bite,
And thrown the residue towards an overstanding question,
To pose: I am the Lazarus, came with life
Come back to tell you- to tell you—to tell you-----‘
If one, placing the pillow below her hyacinth head,
Should with universe-whole-eyes weaving out say: ‘’Tell me, do tell me, please tell me!’’
But I shall not do any such thing at all

And would it have been worth the time, after end of all the time’s ends
Would it have been worth-the-wrath- of seething life
After the collections of sunsets and the hearing of the dooryards and the rivering streets
After the poets and after the songs and the sleepless nights along the silent dunes
And this and much added to more
It is impossible not to just say
I mean the songs and the coming through and storms in the myths
But the magic lit a candle-scape in the shape of the universe in your face
Would it have been worth the bleed and beats?
If one, placing the pillow below her hyacinth head,
Should with universe-whole-eyes weaving out say: ‘’Tell me, do tell me, please tell me!’
But I shall not do any such thing at all

No, I am not like Macbeth, nor did I want to be;
Am just a pauper collecting gifts, one that will
Just be a slight light right night flow, write or sing a scene of two
Advise not any prince and no doubt he is no easy tool
Difference of elements equates him, glad to breathe
Profound, pondsey, and pulsating
Full of imsleys but like the letter x
On occasions, indeed, almost impossible
Almost, at times, an insane wind

My body ages! My body ages!
But I shall not wear any short measured clothes pulled rolled or scrolled

Shall I part my hair or spread? No, and I will always eat my silk redereen apple
As always I shall wear my white trousers and walk upon the sand of my beach
Where I heard and forever hear my mermaid sing and singing

I do not think she will cease to ring me, writhe me and sing for me

I have ridden my horse of wind port-bound over the misty ocean-waves
Combing the fragrant hair on white cliff-tops of foams
When the wind rests on fallen foaming aqua sheets of waves on the gold feet of the sands

We have lived in the coral cavern of the night-ocean
Fed by songs of the writhing sea-weed clasped green
Till time’s eternal lamp stops disturbing us we drink

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The Universe Song
(To W. B. Yates)

I want to sing
Like a child like a child like a child
And build the base of a house with singing storks
And stroke and stoke and strike and sing

I want to sing
Like a man like a man like a man
And build the base of a Tajmahal with light’s knights and Tudor Roses
And rinse and run and ride and slide and glide and sing

I want to sing
Like a postman like a postman like a postman
And build the base of a yellow envelope with waiting room’s pining lights
And run and reap and risk and ripe and ring and sing

I want to sing
Like needles and brooks like needles and brooks like needles and brooks
And build a field of gold with mountain rains and valley shine grass
And dance and dive and don and dive and rise and risk and sing

I want to sing
Like a bell like a bell like a bell
And build an Island with sonar pearls and golds and frosty silver webs
And slide and slither and sip and sol and sing

I want to sing
Like the wind like the wind like the wind
And sing round Daphne under the shining moon in bloom of light and dark
And drink and rink and see and sol and sing

I want to dance
Like two light-made-living vines living vines living vines
And build my sonar diamond shape on the face of the circle of smile
And weave and writhe and write and sigh and sip and sing

I want to hold
Like the Matterhorn like the Matterhorn like the Matterhorn
And let the shape rise beyond the sky as a song on the lips of lights
And leap and reap and ripe and run and ring and sing

I want to be
Like a child like a man like a postman like a human like a flow like a glow like a bloom
And build the base of the house of notes of the universe
And rise and fall and stroll and bite and beat and heat and sit and sip
And sigh and sing and ring and rise and fall and sing and ring
And rise and fall and rise and fall and weave and writhe and sip and ring and sing

Go Up
 

The Horse on the Field: A Song

(To Ted Hughes)
 

The horse on the field
The grass is green
And the spring is out and spread
Mount up and ride towards the horizon’s call
The horse on the field

The horse on the field
On motion’s rhythm and go
The wind on your face, hair sings the air
Ride on towards the horizon’s call
The horse on the field

The horse on the field
The horse on the go on the field
The motion-marvel lights
On your face and eyes
Carrying aqua-dreams of pain
The horse on the field

The horse on the field
Ride on towards the horizon’s call
The horse on its best on the speed
The music made of dusts, air and waves
Ride on towards the horizon’s call
The horse on the field

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The Christmas Tree

The winter sun’s gift of yellow-bird-chick’s
Feather like lights rayed downward from
Heaven’s height falling onto things and
Nothing regardless touching with warmth

I looked up removing the clothing of cold
The beauty that flowed through was living
The lights spoke in a brilliance that I could
Not spell yet I inhaled the rays as oxygen

Taking the lights deeper and deeper into my
Being’s every cell where they light up the
Lamps and I saw the living Christmas tree
That they shaped out in the biology of me

And I felt a piece of living work of lights
Walking home a breathing gift of lights
And their jubilant radiance in this eternal
Tree: I am the Christmas tree-joys of lights

Go Up

Snerenaking

There must have been a passionate courting
There must have been a serenading symphony
That sprayed the air into a perfumed silence
That went outwards as precise compound-magic

There they were one in a static dance where speed
Piloted into a stationary glow in a glistening awe
They stood tall as one glistening velvet green vine
Forming a blanket of magnanimous togetherness

Under the day's muted light beneath the green olive
Tree that peaced together a perfect shadow's warmth
To house them in the heat of melting fluid sweat-song
That cut through the light of longing and love in one

The circle tangibly present did not force yet enforced
Its will almost magically and an awesome Orpheus
Played an eerie sonar teleporting heaven into its body
Walling the sphere where two snakes were snerenaking

We the people propelled into a collective clasped silence
That drew an aesthetic round flower out of our human
Shortfalls and tender taller and softer than our bones we
Stood drinking the scented air and its extended pure taste

Magic mesmerised we held a veil of a vigil a silky quietetude
That could only keep us spell bound counting the passion
And the prolonged longing being together in a dot-eternity
Oh! Music of love in clear air's spread and magnanimity!

The sublime one! The sun-worshiped two! The moments of
Crushing lights photons elements and motion and friction
All in one and one in all: a sphere of music beyond our grasp
Yet the light: the songs of out and in an abounding deep dance

Days months and years and all their aesthetic advance later
I still am spell-bound and bewitched in this image in this
Music and its power: the power to spell all into a spell-less
Quietetude and there in our lights they sing the metaphors

The peak of their height the beating of their bodies glistening
As an aqua awesome wave reaching the roof of space: silence
Sparkled on their beating skins where lights danced in moist
Melting as ice slowly lowering their bodies they slithered away

Since then I sung a lot of broken songs searched for a lot of
Unbounded lights lingering lengthening to form a oneness of
Some cataclysmic hold a seismic make over of an areal opera
Where I take you and you take me as our organs and snerenake

(Body Ocean)

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Body Ocean

The temporaneous temple that tenderly
Houses me where links are long, lark-like
And deep I am always listening to the music
Of the body ocean: flowing rising falling
In high tides and low the flow of the orchestra
Of the rivers writing music in solid liquid

Flow of gold in velvet red: body ocean
Taking in the offerings of my body-rivers
Sleepless steeples countless beats and pulses
I am floating on a fleet of rivers and arteries
Always amused in a background music
Always flowing rising falling spreading

Body ocean body rivers body highways
My trembling temple my altar of magic
Where miles blend in micro-length and
The universe takes shapes in micro-space
Here is where I am and here where I am
Abound areal and unbound: limited by

The limitless unlimited by the love of limits
And their length and breadth: here I am
An enigma being while knowing the notes
Marking the map as I make it with my clay
Here is where I take shape in a shapeless
Serengeti: all beyond proof and evidence

I am the music that takes the rhythm of
The beats of the pulses of the pulp of the
Parts and passes and fails: all boils down
To a bubbling pebble pool where white
Foams form and floats into the wider dark
That lights the blanketed sphere of depth

Here I am and here I am not always aiming
Towards another note another instrument
Another way of playing amazed in the essence
Ebbing away as I go diving riding listening and
Playing losing finding searching the grammar
And its guidance real unreal imagined all blended
In an areal aria: I am what I play: simple magic

Oxygenated Liquor of Lights

Let the walls that mirror each other in twos fall

Flat on the thin invisible back of space

That carries on elaborating eternity’s wings

Let the floor and ceiling be mirroring opposites

One being Aladdin’s Magic Carpet on your feet

And the other mimicking the angelic luminescence

At a momentous dawn or maddening evening

Let all this just fall and you stand on with stretched arms

As though the cocoon has collapsed onto a butterfly

Let one silicon of a moment hatch out into a life

Vast enough to let you just float on that opened up boat

And you keep inhaling the oxygenated liquor of lights

Let all of us de-absolute our absoluted castles

Imprisoned by walls ceilings and floors and just fly and float

And simply devour the liberty like a monumental humming bird

(A Traveler's Guide to Pollypsychophinadalium)

Go Up

The Tale of Indus

Before I became India’s eyes I was in the hard-cold
Unforgiving Europa’s heart from where onward
I travelled for sustenance towards the Indus land
Where there were others who I did not like much

There I was with the scriptures and powers of gods
And there I claimed my prize and settled in on top
Of all the darkish underdogs all falling in line quickly
I claimed India’s eyes and ears and installed an Arian

Soul in the valleys of various textures, vines and virtues
All was Indian Arian: the robust roost was thumped
I was there spreading all kinds of things Arian aurelias
I called the shot cooling and cajoling with gods’ grace

But be the story told I was not anywhere near Europa
When I was living in the heated hard hearth of Africa
From where I moved with a burnt out jacket before
Ice hit us in our dark bodies and eyes we became cold

Time’s breakfast-lunch-supper later we began to shred
Our jackets and had a lot of practice killings about things
That we could not resolve in our previous chords and
Discords we began to be Arian all over Europa’s body

What has not changed is this: we keep moving by the
Magnetism of food and in search of easier weather
We have always been what we made up to call our call
Yet we are not near what we ever could have become

In the filth of slimy slaughterhouse of made up tales
We are the end of lights and a bunch of benign bigots
Wherever we are we are drinking thick blood and bones
Leaving the dawns to dawn heating our hatred’s pools

Yet the kiss of sun in a different temperate topical phase
I lost my shine of Europa’s bless where new Arian coats
Grasped the body of my kin and kith who began to show
What I sung to Indian myth before she gave in caved in

Wherever I am I am not what I am but what I make believe
I believe in my price I fragrance my nasty smell and hide
My claws of hatred and ignorant imbecile misguided look
To life and the earth forgetting I shred jackets like snakes

Always to suit me to clothe me to keep me safe cold or warm
Depending on where I reach in the search of physical heat
There is nothing that I like but make hell and kill all: singing
Ignorant I am like to live in a rotten dark well willing blind

Wherever I am I like to I feel the frills of comfort’s clasp
Not knowing how deep the constant pull-push of Earth
Changing my shape size and colours that’s a live response
To protect me from heat lights dark rays of the sun and sol

Hence in Africa my look is one in Japan I become Nipponic
And in Europe I lark in the pale while in India I dye in henna
In Tibet my tiles are toiled in less pressures and more cold
In Australia my Noah's ark is made differently than Nigeria

My eyes ears nose head hold and length and breadth all shape
Up like literal clay made vase cup or a cupid bow and arrow
I look exactly the way I ought to so that I can breath-bold
Carry on calling the shots of life and its awesome offerings

But I do not see it nor do I feel it nor am I to admit it for
I am a thick empty head where my neurons are neurotic
With ignorant pills and arrogant pride in my fallacies and fall
Hence there is the trail of blood and bigotry in my defaced face

(This poem does not tell or retell history nor does it offer any socio-political or anthropological theory. It simply follows a poetic voice that tells what we are and not or ought to have been or be. The Poet)

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19

Mint green mingles in your mind
And you wonder what else could
You mix to make it dance: try
Melancholy purple around it
And you can hear them dancing
A mint circle petaled in purple
Almost like the earth and moon
Inner and outer layer of one

(The Moon Lines)

Go Up

The Happy Snail

In the soft shadow of September's serene sun
The snail sleeps on a quiet deep red door
All curled up in as a solid kiss of peace
His back deep velvety brown faces the world

Deep asleep he is held in the palm of space
How safe and sound he is resonating silence
On his shell-skin light shadow rests like him
What beauty this is spelled out in a quiet cup

I am pulled to his solemn sleep surely can claim
My wonder in the stamp of the shadow and light
Safety souls out into his sense of connections

He is inside his simple shell that opens him
Fully to the outer space that palms him quiet
A peace-wonder he sleeps on velvet dreams

(Body Ocean)

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Buy Munayem Mayenin's latest Collection Poetry of Rains and Ruins Here

Munayem Mayenin's philosophical works: Dehumanisation of Humanity, Volume I (of IV), 511 pages,  has just been released. To Buy

Buy Munayem Mayenin's 4th Collection: Poetica Rainbow Ryder Buy from Amazon UK

Buy Munayem Mayenin's 3rd Collection: The Geography of Time Buy from Amazon UK 

Buy Munayem Mayenin's 2nd Collection: The Son of Eternity Buy from Amazon UK 

Munayem Mayenin's Newest Collection The Geography of Time is Out

This is here for the readers and visitors to get to know the ideas and creative products of Munayem Mayenin in philosophy, psychology, political science, sociology, novels, poetry, stories and all of which he tried to become in order to find the meaning of life in this cosmosian theatre of life in this infinite universe in search of a humanion and in a profession of humanics. This is at the end of the day the beginning of a new system of thinking and ideas and a new beginning of a new civilisation that will be based on:

Munayem Mayenin at the 12th Philosophy Born of Struggle Conference @ The New School University in New York:  Munayem Mayenin attended the 12th Philosophy Born of Struggle Philosophy Conference at The New School University, New York where he presented a paper titled: On Dehumanisation of Humanity. October  28 & 29th (Friday-Saturday) 2005 The New School, Wolfe Conference Room, 65th Fifth Avenue, New York. Read More about the Conference in November Issue of The Poet's Letter Magazine

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Munayem Mayenin's poetry has been translated into Spanish, Arabic and Mongolian.