Posted in Poetry

THE CASE

Bring up your cause so we can hear

Speak in reason which you hold so strong

Witness unto us the deed that has been done

Show us the acts that distressed your peace

What they may be, considerations will be made

 

Affliction comes not forth of the dust

Neither trouble spring out of the ground

Where is your beauty, we would like to know?

Your heart has become darker than coal

Even your skin cleaves onto your bones.

 

Bitterness rules your desolate life like a tyrant

Is thy grief is heavier than the sand of the sea

That you drive your throat hoarse

As if the terrors of death have fallen upon you

Why not give up the ghost then?

 

No I will not give up my ghost

It is my essence of existence, my identity, my pedigree

I am not bitter, am just exasperated

Because people lie and make it sound normal.

 

Why does humankind pretend to be good yet we are all savages?

Ready to pound on others and celebrate their misfortunes

My heart was once white, but humankind has made it dark

Like soot in a kettle, it blackens everyday

 

I am bitter of the injustices meted daily by humankind

Of slavery, racism, colonialism, terrorism, ethnic cleaning and religious profiling

If all religions speak of peace, why do we have so much wars

We flock in churches, mosques and synagogues, yet inside we are vile

We are evil, conniving and cunning, yet in religion we veil

 

We hurt, cheat, kill and later turn our bloody hands to shake our victims

We applaud the evil doers, and condemn the morally right

The chaste ones are ridiculed, shunned like a deadly disease

We pretend to be saints in front of camera,

Yet we have daggers underneath the table

Advertisements
Posted in Inspire, Poetry

THE WEDDING

Tried to summon my courage,
There was a touch of insanity,
If you ask me,
There was a sense of lugubrious drollery,
In the whole scene;
Which could not be dissipated
With the musical chants.

My pace was slow and heavy,
I knew i was taking a merry dance with death;
The drought had affected him too,
His joints were like knots in a rope;
Meagre breasts panted together,
Eyes stared stonily,
Oh dear!!! I wasn’t ready.

The wound had just healed,
He won’t be able to fit,
That I knew for sure;
But his devilish look cut through
The mournful stillness of my spirit,
He won’t wait for me,
Do I get a say really?

Posted in Poetry

OLD DAYS

The wind blows, the sound is nostalgic,

Of the old days when rains, used to be plenty

And children played outside, and herded cattle in the fields

The trees whistle in the forest

In a reminiscence of the whistling of the herder in the green fields

When the herd was plenty and the rain dropped from the sky

The land was fertile and the plains were never dry

 

The rain drops, on the metal sheet

Very intense but for a short time

Unlike the old times when, we had more than plenty

When we had bumper harvests and our granaries were ever full

 

Now on the wind blows, and brushes past the dry trees

The trees whistle a mournful sound, like a funeral procession

the raindrops are scarce, and very feeble, like a candle fire in the wind

The children never play outside, they are never amused by the sun and the desolate land

And the fireplace has no fire, only ashes remain, because the corn has since dried in the farm land

 

Adopted words,

Anonymous.

Posted in Poetry

THE DATE

After three hours of sitting down looking at each other

Feasting on the sacred moment of pure honesty and truth

Paralyzed to have a sense of time

Him staring at her curved bowed lips

Her… well, what about her?

She was definitely mesmerized by the cool eyes

So curious, searching, looking…

He asked her then, to pour him a drink

 

Heard by the eavesdropping birds, the words were weightless

To her, they were whispered words wrapped in petals

That floated gently into her rib cage and settled at her centre

It was a simple request, but her heart took it as a plea

Something changed, in a second the environment changed

The trance was broken, and the locks snapped

 

A harsh fell and the silence shouted at the top of her lungs

Confusion was written on her face

Wondered if he knew that she was just a picture

With a broken frame

A voice commanded her out of the state

Be everything your ego is afraid to become

Your existence is tied together like shoelaces.

 

Her eyes held so many tears, unshed for so many years

He said, “Rain on me”

Chosen not to be wiped, chosen not to be held back

She tasted her very emotions, a mixture

Of anguish, pain, bitterness, frustration and happiness

And it was the best wine he had ever had.

Posted in Inspire, Poetry

WHAT IS BROKEN IS WHAT GOD BLESSES

The lover’s footprint in the sand

the ten-year-old kid’s bare feet

in the mud picking chili for rich growers,

not those seeking cultural or ethnic roots,

but those whose roots

have been exposed, hacked, dug up and burned

and in those roots

do animals burrow for warmth;

what is broken is blessed,

not the knowledge and empty-shelled wisdom

paraphrased from textbooks,

not the mimicking nor plaques of distinction

nor the ribbons and medals

but after the privileged carriage has passed

the breeze blows traces of wheel ruts away

and on the dust will again be the people’s broken

footprints.

What is broken God blesses,

not the perfectly brick-on-brick prison

but the shattered wall

that announces freedom to the world,

proclaims the irascible spirit of the human

rebelling against lies, against betrayal,

against taking what is not deserved;

the human complaint is what God blesses,

our impoverished dirt roads filled with cripples,

what is broken is baptized,

the irreverent disbeliever,

the addict’s arm seamed with needle marks

is a thread line of a blanket

frayed and bare from keeping the man warm.

We are all broken ornaments,

glinting in our worn-out work gloves,

foreclosed homes, ruined marriages,

from which shimmer our lives in their deepest truths,

blood from the wound,

broken ornaments

when we lost our perfection and honored our imperfect

sentiments, we were blessed.

Broken are the ghettos, barrios, trailer parks where gangs duel to death,

yet through the wretchedness a woman of sixty comes riding her rusty bicycle,

we embrace

we bury in our hearts,

broken ornaments, accused, hunted, finding solace and refuge

we work, we worry, we love

but always with compassion

reflecting our blessings

in our brokenness

thrives life, thrives light,

thrives the essence of our strength,

each of us a warm fragment,

broken off from the greater

ornament of the unseen,

then rejoined as dust,

to all this is.

by Jimmy Santiago, 1952.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

A PSALM OF LIFE

Tell me not, in mournful number,

Life is but an empty dream!”

For the soul is dead that slumber;

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not it’s goal;

“Dust thou art, to dust returnest,”

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to- morrow

Finds us farther than to-day.

Art is long and time is fleeting,

And thou our hearts, thou stout and brave;

Still, like muffled drums are beating

Funereal marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of life,

Be not dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act, act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God overhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time.

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing

Learn to labor and to wait.

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Posted in Poetry

THE AFRICAN LADY

She was wearing an African blue print couture dress
Fully defined edges that brought out her delicate hedges
That cover her Alice in such a magnificent wonderland
I think she got it from Etsy, just saying (whispering)
Her voice, “Oh! That voice”, I can’t forget it
It was so coarse, so coarse it seemed like…
As if it was ragged by the rugs of her past.

Well, to be frank with you, I love her, I really do
I know she has loved me for her entire life
But you see, I’ve loved her for my entire life
So that’s like how many years now?
I think I can say I know what love is
So original, so… not perverted by the external forces
Just speaking from experience here that’s all
If only I could give her one thing in this life…
I would give her the ability to see herself through my eyes,
Only then! Only then, would she realize
How special she is to me.

Posted in Uncategorized

THE OLD TIMES

The wind blows, the sound is nostalgic,

Of the old days when rains, used to be plenty

And children played outside, and herded cattle in the fields

 

The trees whistle in the forest

In a reminiscence of the whistling of the herder in the green fields

When the herd was plenty and the rain dropped from the sky

The land was fertile and the plains were never dry

 

The rain drops, on the metal sheet

Very intense but for a short time

Unlike the old times when, we had more than plenty

When we had bumper harvests and our gannaries were ever full

 

Now on the wind blows, and brushes past the dry trees

The trees whistle a mournful sound, like a funeral procession

the rain drops are scarse, and very feeble, like a candle fire in the wind

The children never play outside, they are never amused by the sun and the desolate land

And the fire place has no fire, only ashes remain, because the corn has since dried in the farm land

 

words by,

anonymous writer

Posted in Poetry

DOWN BUT NOT OUT

088258efdff26058eccdbdeeb104d256

Living day after day, till it feels like, we are just surviving.
Holding on, to a string that may give in and we fall down to a bottomless hole.
Seems like, the way down never ends, it goes on and on and on.
Our eyes clear as crystal though we are surrounded by destitution.

Tears have been shed so often a time that,
It seems pointless to continue with such a pitiful act;
Our hearts beating at an accelerated rate as if its on fire yet its so freezing out here.
Our history showing a few victories, but far in between our lowest points.

This challenge before me whose breath seems to dim the sun with it’s fumes…
It raises so many a wounded thoughts that I find hard to endure;
Reliving that day over and over again till I can’t take it no more!
Can I please just teleport to another dimension where am free from my own conscious?

Well, I might be down right now but am not out,
A stubborn spirit you might think I have,
A naive one perhaps to not realizing my predicament.
I believe I know this situation better, for its mine you see?
Say no and I will surely carry on.

Posted in Poetry

A CONVERSATION.

Would like to make a conversation

About our lives and nature with its function

All this spinning and cycles bring frustration

Yet everything happens for a reason.

 

A little advice from you is all I ask

For my life is like a ship in a raging sea

Will I see the sun set in the horizon?

Or I have already completed my mission?

 

What kind of a person keeps such an organization

Entangled it seems, to this life with a strong emotion

That clouds my capacity to even make a single decision

Yet am I, as highly expected, to fulfill my vision?

 

What I thought, I felt, I believed

Do I deserve more from you than integrity?

For all I hold dear in my hand strongly departed

Now they blur to visions that are long forgotten.

 

Do not speak thy kind words dear sir, I beg you

For thy words only bring more confusion to mind

Unheard is my heart’s desire for rationality

That thy mouth is full of deceit?