Here I am, cold and numb
Sitting, Standing, rocking back and forth in the dark,
My bedroom seems smaller and smaller
Difficult to breathe, I almost choked
Drinking salty tears,
Grieving my own death..
Where do I go now?
What have I done?
My shadow is spinning around..
Topsy turvy, my life is upside down..
What a mess, just spinning around..
Round and round...
swirling around in the moonlight
Hate my face, hate my life, spin around...sheer madness!
Repeated defeats,my dooms day is here...
I can’t run..I can’t hide, I spin around...
Meaningless, fate is spinning around
I am spinning around with a sad smile on my face
Nothing left... even the moon is shying away
I am standing, spinning, dancing my own death... pure madness!
I have no fear, I am just Spinning around, around, around....
Sometimes I’m fine with my life
With my world
Happy content at where I am at
Then out of the blue
A flashback hits me unexpectedly
I could be doing something simple
Like getting ready for work
Or preparing for a day out
Or even just going to bed
When WHAM…It hits me out of the blue
My world suddenly starts to crumble
The memories sharp and so clear
The violence the hate
The beatings the rapes
It’s like a dagger to my heart
All the memories and pain
It just rips my world apart
I have never claimed to be a saint
I can never be perfect in mine own eyes
I am who I am a victim of circumstance
One thing that has helped me through these bad dreams
These nightmares of pain
Is being here with my friends on the best site I’ve ever been
Thanks from my heart for just being my friend
©KG 2013
I saw a glimpse of her the other day…
A woman,
Soft and gentle, elegant and radiant..
A beautiful woman is like a flower
Scented flowers, blooming in the garden of Eden..
A woman is a beautiful gift
Created by god who has his nature
A beautiful soul I see in human beings…
A beautiful nature I see in the surroundings..
Beautiful you see the world around you..
Beautiful you witness the living nature..
What a charming beauty… is god’s creations…
A birds song fluting through the air
A young child with sunlight in her hair
A tiny flower hidden in the weeds
All can be beautiful should you choose them to be
Storm clouds over mountain peaks or a cruel forbidding sea
They have their own stark beauty, it is there to see
A piece of rough stone buried in the sand
A simple thing of beauty from our creator’s hand
Soliloquizing softly to a wine and sapphire sky,
I dreamt I scales those serried summits,
Mind and heaven harmonized
Ere long, my feelings blossomed,
And again they did recede
Aery undulations, to a sordid flame do lead
For as the twilight strips away
The radiant raiment worn by day
Time, that thief of life
Is sure to steal from me my youth
Points Do Not a Poet Make
The poem is the afterbirth,
A conflicts resolution, an outcome,
Battlefield debris, the residue of
An exacting vision, a sentiment surging,
And your army of words, inadequate to the task,
Fighting to capture that insight flashed,
Each word a soldier, disheveled,
Crying, let me live, let me be saved,
Let me make a poem,
Let it be inscribed upon my victorious flag.
The poem is the sweat left upon the brow,
Having exercised the five senses,
The salt of struggle and debate,
It's completion, each word,
Both a victory and a defeat.
To write down any old notion,
A la de da rhyme of late and fate,
To write to garner points and pins of glory,
Is just, well, bloody awful....
And
Mocks us all who ache
To write but a single line,
That uplifts the heart,
Eases pain, gives delight to strangers,
And makes you laugh out loud
With shivery pleasure,
That usurps a whole day and night,
That is a poets true measure.
Mastery of the poetic,
Measured not in quantity,
But in tears of satisfaction
When others love the taste
Of newly born stanzas
Upon their lips,
couplets born and transcribed
In the wee hours of the morn.
The monkey chattered in my ears
his laughter became my tears.
A dry cackle that slipped through
each and every link that shackled me
and bound me to futility.
I called him Manny
mainly because it wasn't funny to give him a name at all
but strange things happen to those that fall beside the wayside.
There was no parable to make my life bearable
no miracles and no burning bush
the monkey pulled while I pushed or perhaps the other way round
until finally worn down to the ground
Manny decided it would be quicker to walk and bid me goodbye.
I wonder why I fed him for so long
right or wrong that's what I did
but now he's gone there's more for me
and I can see
that I am greedy too.
What is there left to do but fill my head
with thoughts of the living and of those that are dead
and decide into which category I fit.
To bite the bullet or take the bit
and cut one's cloth so it will fit
is the order of my day.
Manny's gone and I am on my way
hip hip hip
hooray.
someday
I will be able to smile
once again
and I will be able
to breathe
and I won't be
so lonely
and when that day comes
maybe
I will be thankful
that I was saved
and I will be glad
I could finally
see the light
{c.m.}
Like a birth is usual, also
Death is a natural,
a likely process;
As the soul begins
an eternal Journey;
body shuts down by its own.
Whether rich or poor,
young or old;
Beautiful or ugly;
virgin or impure;
We must face and
deal with it one day;
Pain or sorrow;
grief or fear;
We must bear and
accept it in any way;
Loss or gain;
feel of heal;
Be ready to say
A Goodbye
to all likings; sharing’s;
Favorites and to beloveds;
well wishers !
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsmaveli.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
(All poems in this series are, translations from Malayalam, originally written in author’s mother-tongue, “Malayalam’”, the language of Kerala, in South India.)
BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsji.com
she hurts herself
she cries her tears
it's nothing compared
to the pain inside her cold heart
she lies useless
defeated as depression takes another blow
she's numb,
feeling nothing
after all
she's used to it
every day is the same
she hurts and she breaks
but she'll sew herself up again
just long enough
to last
until she can take
no more
{c.m.}
................................................................................
My idea, if truth be told
Is a thousand lifetimes old.
Yes, I admit I stole it all,
And I'm feeling almost ten feet tall
As each and every blooming day
Good things just seem to flow my way.
My Employees,
They may tend to bark,
But, clever me, I let them know
How quickly I could pack up shop
And move the firm to Mexico.
There the workers strive with dignity
For their fifty cents a day.
There are no lofty paychecks here.
As long as I can have my way.
Our Dental Plan is rather swell,
And my Employees know it oh so well.
A brand new toothbrush every year,
Makes me so misty I could tear.
My thoughtfulness is quite well known,
'Tis great concern that I have shown,
Improving every life I touch
With brand new brooms and mops and such.
And, aye, I truly do my best.
Nothing arrogant or selfish here.
I strive to build up and invest
These words of wisdom, songs of cheer.
A day or two ago I said
Our Company would trudge ahead
Into the dark and deepest sea
That I prefer financially,
In this wise and wicked industry,
The poor will always envy me.
Although I sometimes tend to fire
More people than I ever hire -
And what is it the wealthy seek?
Beyond their power and ambition,
It is nothing more than mere tradition,
To emulate the self-effacing meek.
We do what wealth will always do
When tempted with such a position,
We reinvent ourselves as new,
And play doctor as a politician.
Copyright © 1996 Richard D. Remler
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"And I particularly like the whole thing of being boss.
Boss and employee... It's the slave quality that I find
very alluring."
~Hugh Grant
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