Blood of the innocent,
Tears of the innocent,
Pleading on their knees,
Begging not to die,
Five bullets to the chest then onto the next,
The hot lead piercing lungs,
My time is up,
I follow those who go up,
I am given orders,
KILL ALL WHO ARE A THREAT,
I murdered innocent people...
Lives wasted for oil,
The children scream as they see DEATH,
They surrender but their blood stains the ground around them,
From the holes in their chest,
An automatic riffle at my chest...
I'm innocent until proven guilty,
Where are these people's trials...
Where are these people's trials?
I'm not a soldier
Blood of the innocent,
Tears of the innocent,
Pleading on their knees,
Begging not to die,
Five bullets to the chest then onto the next,
The hot lead piercing lungs,
My time is up,
I follow those who go up.
I am given orders,
KILL ALL WHO ARE A THREAT,
I murdered innocent people...
Lives wasted for oil
The children scream as they see DEATH,
They surrender but their blood stains the ground around them,
From the holes in their chest,
An automatic riffle at my chest...
I'm innocent until proven guilty,
Where are these people's trials...
Where are these people's trials?
I'm not a soldier
Blood of the innocent,
Tears of the innocent,
Pleading on their knees,
Begging not to die,
Five bullets to the chest then onto the next,
The hot lead piercing lungs,
My time is up,
I follow those who go up.
I am given orders,
KILL ALL WHO ARE A THREAT,
I murdered innocent people...
Lives wasted for oil
The children scream as they see DEATH,
They surrender but their blood stains the ground around them,
From the holes in their chest,
An automatic riffle at my chest...
I'm innocent until proven guilty,
Where are these people's trials...
Where are these people's trials?
I'm not a soldier
Fourteen months I practiced
Climbing rocks and hillocks too
I was off to see the Seer
On a mountain in Peru
I packed my gear
My ropes and boots
and I set off on my trip
I had brought along
ten pairs of gloves
So I would not lose my grip
The group we had assembled
Had questions for this man
Questions church folk could not answer
And we all hoped he can
Tales of his great insight
Spread from sea to sea
And we were off on an adventure
And he would talk to me
Each seer lived inside a cave
With a pillow and a goat
With the goat hair stuffed his pillow
And the extra for a coat
He never left his mountain
Never came to town for food
He was always free with answers
No matter what his mood
The seer had been a fixture
On the mountain top for years
Over five hundred winters passing
Had meant there'd been eight seers
We climbed upon arrival
It took two days just to reach
The base camp, our new homeland
We would learn and he would teach
The weather cleared on Tuesday
And we ventured out in force
We were bogged down hard on Friday
And we had to leave our horse
Each day the trek was tougher
But, our goal was still in sight
We figured if the weather cleared
We'd be there in one more night
The next day we had made it
We were where the seer had sat
There was a goat, and a small letter
Saying "There's now an app for that"
"Thank you for your interest"
"But, I've set up a new site"
"It's www.seer.com"
"Safe journey home, and have a good good night".
It's in the journey not just the exit
It's out the window through the rush
I'll take care of you always
You don't need to ask.
Through all of the distractions
The wind blowing through our hair
All it takes is our eyes
To see you everywhere
How magnificent is your city
The beauty of creation
This is what you
For us all along
An overflow of creativity
For no one to be a like
But through love that comes from you
Together we're unified
As for human intentions
We may not be so sound
Still the glory goes to you
I can see it all around
Like a river you spirit flows
With peace, love and hope.
Through you all fear goes
And all it's chains have been broke
6:34 PM
Where echos bound off cavern walls
Thundering, spacious water falls
Giving power to the ember furnace
Crafters work with full earnest
Our clang of metal forming metal
Our laughter around the stew-filled kettle
Lacboring long into the night
Carrying laterns for our light
A golden tint in the arenose air
A rich man's delight, deep in this lair
A cornucopia of jewels and stone
Picks and axes spark on the hone
Melted metals with tools of the trade
Upon the anvil are ceremoniously laid
To be shaped and formed into desires
By light of the blazing, crimson fires
Where we find sweat and danger as one
And rarely journey out into the sun
Have amity with our fellow men
And all write to loved ones with one pen
The cavern echos, the rays of gold
This ancient house of tales untold
To find this place, a costly fee
A way of escape will never be
the cool stone his breath, he digs
hoping to find what he is longing for
the shimmer of a gold vain? sure of what they said
o how they told him long ago
so he blisters, too deep to remember, and how long the depths
the pick axe worn thin, blood and bone and steal and will
rip into the next swing, and cold chunks of stone
fall onto cold chunks of stone, piles, drifting in two and three
...wanting gold
to dig into a swinging party this deep must be a farce… yet
his hands no longer blister, and finding love brief and wonderful,
wild flowers in bloom, a field of holly, the most beautiful
dancing, the sway and whimsy of a ball surround
wind harps sweet air; the beat of the drums stead fast
and after the waltz, the moon walks them home,
knees… begin to ache, the weight of her beauty sore,
her pedals fall against the shores of lapping tides
and fading dreams…
and the longing for gold remembers him
….....deep underground, he awakens to hands blistered dry, now laying beside… detached
knees worn away, and his arms too… just pain the mind reassures
leaving his limbs behind, he must be close… this body to drag, is at least a bit lighter now
for the journey is another mouth full of dirt, the warm carbon against busted teeth
a broken inch crawls into light, the eyes struck blind and his tired tears do not stop him…
still the warm glow, somehow a reminder of the past, an old guide longing to meet him...
and something ancient still looms behind him too, a trail… the thick shadow, of fresh soil
so thoughts convince, to the center of the earth
or maybe a candle, that knows not that it shines,
the warmth he has been longing for, the shadow of dust behind
told of gold, sets off into the soil, and deeps the cold stone
and the cruel trick! or so he thinks, there is no gold down here at all!
just his warm laughter…
and the light ahead…
and the dung behind…
and the earth worm
continues to dig
with a smile
less than an inch away...
from summer grasses
and blooming
goldenrod
............................................
I do not dream,
I journey.
Across the Saltstraumen Maelstrom,
And through Orion's Gates
I seek tribute and treasures,
Yet only those few things
That enrich my soul
Do I ever take.
I ford rivers
And cross streams,
I climb chambered walls
In search of my prize.
I weary deserts,
And explore valleys
Yet unseen by
Mortal eyes.
I hunger for what has
Not been forged.
I fight battles
That should be won.
I dare the struggle
Of the unknown,
And an adventure we
Have yet begun.
Still, your lack of vision
Holds you back,
When you ought,
In your strength,
Attack.
Your fear of the unknown
Keeps you bound
In chains no mere man
Can tear down.
I do not dream,
I journey,
Into that which I
Do not know.
For man needs to
Shake loose his chains,
Or he will never grow.
Copyright © 2009 Richard D. Remler
..................................................................................
"The doors we open and close each day decide
the lives we live."
-Flora Whittemore
............................................
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
Tick-tock on the clock,
The world isn't going to stop.
Around and around the wheels will roll,
There's something you must know:
Life will carry on through the bad,
And the good.
Tick-tock on the clock,
The world still spins.
A pregnant belly and an angry boyfriend,
This world isn't going to end.
As if it's your only choice,
Abortion is your road.
Tick-tock on the clock,
Take an empty start.
No baby and no boyfriend,
You restart your journey.
Tick-tock on the clock,
Bills unpaid and jobs undone.
A knife to the heart,
Pills in your hand.
Tick-tock, slowing down.
This is it, are your last thoughts, this is the end.
But silly child,
You must know,
There's never an end.
Your pain carries on throughout the world,
Through your mother, your father and your friends.
They share your name,
Like it's made of gold.
The boyfriend who forced you into abortion misses you so,
And the unborn child he will never know.
This isn't the end,
You never die.
Until your name is spoken,
For the last time.
