What's in his mind?
One cup of labor
Two scoops of pain
Three scoops of lust
Issues with trust
Four cups of distress
One more for the rest
And five milligrams
of pessimism at best

What's in his heart?
One tablespoon of pride
Two teaspoons of shame
A spoonful of ambition
One third expedition
Two-thirds of abolition
A half a cup of absentee
Another half depravity

What's in his soul?
A recipe I have yet to know

They came like a nightmare and took us away.
Oh Mother! Don't spill a tear, your son's in a better place.
They were scared of our pens so they fired us off.
Oh Mother! Don't cry for their guns have lost.

They pointed us out and asked our identities.
Oh Father! Stand tall, I answered them proudly.
I took a bullet in my head for wearing green.
Oh Father! Be strong, I did not feel a thing.

So bury me in this land and bury me with smiles
Every grain of this soil is a witness of my sacrifice.
So bury me in this land and bury me with smiles
Your son embraced martyrdom and a martyr never dies.

Those monsters just killed, did not let anyone go.
Oh Father! Their hearts were stone cold.
They painted the walls of my school with our blood.
Oh Father! Don't worry, they will be the one to suffer.

I was received by the angels at the gates of heaven.
Oh Mother! That place was full of little children.
And when I met the Lord, I was dressed in green.
Oh Mother! My Mother! I was so happy.

So bury me in this land and bury me with smiles
Every grain of this soil is a witness of my sacrifice.
So bury me in this land and bury me with smiles
Your son embraced martyrdom and a martyr never dies.

The mailbox hangs open/
Trying to breathe

Lead us, Evolution, lead us
Up the future's endless stair;
Chop us, change us, **** us, **** us.
For stagnation is despair:
Groping, guessing, yet progressing,
Lead us nobody knows where.

Wrong or justice, joy or sorrow,
In the present what are they
while there's always jam-tomorrow,
While we tread the onward way?
Never knowing where we're going,
We can never go astray.

To whatever variation
Our posterity may turn
Hairy, squashy, or crustacean,
Bulbous-eyed or square of stern,
Tusked or toothless, mild or ruthless,
Towards that unknown god we yearn.

Ask not if it's god or devil,
Brethren, lest your words imply
Static norms of good and evil
(As in Plato) throned on high;
Such scholastic, inelastic,
Abstract yardsticks we deny.

Far too long have sages vainly
Glossed great Nature's simple text;
He who runs can read it plainly,
'Goodness = what comes next.'
By evolving, Life is solving
All the questions we perplexed.

Oh then! Value means survival-
Value. If our progeny
Spreads and spawns and licks each rival,
That will prove its deity
(Far from pleasant, by our present,
Standards, though it may well be).

I believe in Déjà Vu
More than I believe in God.
A warning to myself
Of things to come
Seems more likely than anything else.

For after all, whom do we worship but ourselves
When we pray to a deity, aren't they what we want - Power?
When we worship the catwalk, isn't that all we want - Beauty?
When we laugh with someone, isn't that all we want - Goodness?

I ignore the church bells
I listen to the voices in my head
Telling me that
They saw this all coming
So they did.

It doesn't make things easier, but then
What does?
Déjà Vu.

It must have been hard
To have waited by the phone for so long that
You forgot what its ring sounded like
You forgot whom you were awaiting
You forgot what it was to have a conversation

You just watched the plastic
And slowly grew older
Unplugging yourself from the wall
And dying with the phone.
Your call of pain and being alone
Nothing like the one you anticipated,
But how would you have known?

I do not classify myself as a Becca or Becky because the ‘Re’ is important.

The prefix meaning ‘again’ motivates me when I fail to keep trying again.

Failing *****, but growing from mistakes is a beautiful process that I come by often.