Where are you Devi ?

Up in the Kailasha
in the arms of Mahadeva
snowclad silent in meditation
while down below in their settlement
humans in the belief you've come down
adorn you with flowers with their hands
and with those same hands **** own blood
rob own kin debauch mothers and sisters
crowd your place of worship with no piety
but for selfies with your image on the background
for Devi unbeknownst to even you
you're no more the Shakti
the prowess against the Evil
but a commerce, a commodity
in the hands of men of 21st century
who know to worship only money.

My father's voice was like a bomb
when he was clothed in anger
His words were driven by stress and pain
and he loved that pain like no other

In the wake of his wrath
grew flowers of sorrow
I felt my innocence die
and my maturity grow

I am my father's daughter
and I carry this fear
That I'll be a bomb like him
in the upcoming years

She said she had her "Free papers"

Green cards
Walls
Chains

Let me ask you,
But this one question,
or perhaps a few
When you walk the fields
see the flowers,
Do you say, cut down the yellow ones
save the pink ones?
Pick the purple pansies,
lay waste to the red ones?
When you plant flowers,
Do you say
One is less than the other,
because of differing beauty?
Do you like the rainbow,
given all it's colours?
Are all those colours,
not what makes it so beautiful?

Two hundred years ago,
We called them "Free Papers"
Today,
We call it a green card

Flesh and Flesh
Is what we are.

i was there the day she died
the day she breathed her last
i prayed the Lord she'd suffer not
it's happening too fast

we both agreed no life support
so many years ago
how could i see this circumstance
or this scenario

we thought she had a fighting chance
if some support were used
it was that time i gave consent
i'm tired and confused

we prayed for a recovery
she'd wake up once again
i realized the hour came
this wasn't in God's plan

i pray for strength and guidance, Lord
i knew what need be done
her body must release the ghost
death's time at last had come

i chose the time we'd say farewell
a Sunday in July
i never thought i'd see this day
this day of last goodbyes

a chosen few stood by her bed
i held her hand in mine
i finger-combed my baby's hair
her time was growing nigh

the staff removed all life support
she now was on her own
the chaplain hummed Amazing Grace
My God don't drag this on

babe it's okay now to let go
i'll be alright my love
it's time for you to take His hand
and follow God above

her little body gave out soon
her shallow breaths were few
then quietly she left this world
to start her life anew

so now i am a broken man
there's naught that can fix me
for now there is a piece missing
she has my heart you see

Time took my baby
and later took my pain
now it shortens time it takes
till I see her again

When I'm feeling heartache
living pure misery
Time can bleed away the hurt
that eats away at me

Time isn't perfect
it won't erase the pain
as long as there are memories
the hurt will rise again

Time took my darling
and now it's taking me
So now I'm waiting to arrive
at my final destiny

Freedom is a gift the wicked try to steal
but in their blindness they truly cage only themselves.

by Arcassin Burnham

Tired of being sick and tired of a world so uninspired,
By all means show me what it means to be someone that has a squeaky clean life without any repercussions,
Not have to fight through argumentative discussions  facing problems in a world of corruption,  
where villains with no faces hide in dysfunction,
my words are not abnormal just simply conjunctions,

A twenty year old black kid from Florida with no job and no **** peaceful aura begging the one above all for some clarity and self-efficient futures that'll put a smile on his face for his kids,
But why would the one above all put us in a situation in a test of sheer survival of not giving into the wickedness blinding us in a country that'll steal Native
Indian lands, did they forget what they did?

So life is hard because it needs to be,
life is hard because your friends might turn on you,
Life is hard because people have the wrong political views ,
life is hard because having a reminiscing depression of the past will stop you from being free,
But we never are.

Howard Dully was twelve years old
when Dr. Freeman felt so bold
to dig around inside his head
a wonder that he isn't dead.

The year was 1963,
when Howard had his lobotomy.
He never even had a clue,
of what his parents planned to do.

                  ORBITOCLASTS
The name Freeman gave to his personally designed
lobotomy knives.
They went under Howard's eyelids 3 centimeters
from the mid line and parallel with the nose.
Driven to a depth of 5 centimeters he pulled the handles
laterally, returned them halfway, and drove 2 centimeters
deeper.  He touched the handles over the nose, seperated
them 45 degrees, elevated them 50 degrees, and at this point
he probably
smiled to himself.
For now they were parallel,
and ready for photography before removal.

An angry stepmom arranged it all,
she made the final judgement call.
They labeled Howard as insane....
opened him up, and juggled his brain.

Howard survived because he was still growing.
Not fully developed,
his brain would keep going....
off in directions he couldn't control
but never condeming
the depths of his soul.

Not long ago I read his book.
I felt intrigued to take a look.
I hope, dear reader, you do the same.
Remember his story,
remember his name.