He opened his arms,
like a catchment for rain,
took their tiny fear
for many years,
huddled with love,
made out of tears.
Pappa at the orphanage
But no matter how much you beg on your knees
That’s what war can be
The child cried as his mother’s body lied
With the building burning to ashes
Ashes to the ground, as you hear the child plea
But alas that’s what war can be
The man strangled out cries
As his dying breaths suffocated
Underneath the collapsed building, trying to flee
But alas that’s what war can be
Remember the father who starved himself so his children could eat?
Who had been stripped from his luxury?
His happiness, his love? Who wanted to be free?
Is that what war can be?
What about the brother?
Who lost his leg, saving his sister from a shooter?
What about the sister?
Who died so that her brother could survive his gun inflicted blister?
What about the children?
Who think the parents went to the store?
Only to have the parents in a Ranger’s view
Lying on the ground, blood seeping through
What about the men and women?
Lined up, not knowing their final words
Tears prickling, not being able to see
Is that what you want your people to see?
But that’s all fine
Get the victims in a line
For it’s all for honor
For it’s all for power
What do you think
Goes through the people’s heads?
Oh how great is our country,
For being torn to shreds?
Or oh it’s fine your son died,
Even if you had cried
All this bloodshed is just insignificant clatter
to such an elite matter
What about the bloodshed?
The dead families?
The pain, the agony?
The lost homes?
The children living in fear?
The bonds broken?
Is it all worth ego?
While you bet the lives like a gambling casino?
Imagine suffocating slowly and painfully, still having so much to do
Imagine watching your mother die, right after she attended the stew
Imagine holding your child, trying hard to erase all doubt
Imagine living a life, where nothing goes right and about
Imagine seeing your school friends cry
While blood trickles from your thigh
So go on with your slaughter
But remember the mother
Every eye you made shed salty water
So hold your ****** weapons up high
That once blood is on the hands
it never fades or becomes dry
No surname for identification, no address for communication, no relations to own and no rights in my possession,
Discovered in the trash bin as long term survivor of affliction asphyxiation and malnutrition,
Given shelter yet brought up in isolation, called by names that describes my origin,
Denied basic human rights for I possess no rights to be born.,
I am by definition; An illegitimate result of legitimate love induced illicit physical union of a ****** woman with her unlawful man.,
While the sinful man and the woman are at relief that their sin is trashed away in the bin; My shoulders carry its burden and forever my peace and happiness are forbidden.,
Should I be Grateful to my fellow man who saved me from death to curse my birth all my life, Or to the God who created me as an illegitimate sign of a man's sin .,
it is not unusual in the world that one sins\wrongs\commit mistakes and the burden\guilt\pain is carried by an other-the self-proposed law of man
There are clouds of sound and noise
That utter thoughts in a muffled voice,
Gestures of hands simply won’t cast out
Cloudy skies in days of doubt.
Like strangers lost in a crowd
Whose cries are buried by the loud,
The loud din of helpless wanderers
Whose presence disrupts and disturbs.
All strangers left on their own,
Islands floating out in the fog;
Orphans with cruel fates to bemoan;
Fates that are swept under the rug.
And who's looking with interest, who reaches down with an arm,
Never so eager to help, neither too late nor too soon?
Who would make this world perhaps a little more warm
And freshen the skies of our cloudy afternoon?
Written in December 2017.
It was green before this torment
It was jovial before this storm
There was no stinging tear
But, the clamouring of fleer
My heart throbs with every breath
For I have swallowed a venomous drink of fear
My eyes are searching for a life
An intimate being they do seek
The winds whispered in my ear
‘All those are gone and some disappeared.’
The foul odor around is burning my soul
And the bawling of dismay is all I can hear
For the night is restless and it beseeches aid
I, here, stand still with my back on a spear
The world will recite my story, it will celebrate this day
And will sleep somehow after the vigils on the graves
Yet how I shall find the one who gave me birth?
And will he pay for my dreams with a fatherly stare?
Solace is not what I require
Words will no longer prevail
For I do not feel anything
It is now an eternal pain
The world has become a chaos pit.
I am like a saint,
being kind to others is me,
Caused I was abused.
streets that once sang salvation
capricious with their mercury cracks
promised a sunlit city of night
to charismatic tramps
starlet girls drag men into motel rooms
desperate to make a buck
cafe drifters fumble for broken cigarettes
young harlots curse their luck
neon upstreet outlaws
don't hang around this part of town
just poor people's shadows and ambulance drivers
the subway poet's disillusioned
didn't find his crystal jukebox queen
and despite his desperate, lovestruck words
the city is onerous to please
Despite all we've been through
You still believe the lies
The figmented truth they sell us
In neatly folded towels
Ironed sheets and fresh linen
Tempting us with home
A seemingly harmless word
Dragging us under
Sinking us deep
Those words held memories
Drilled into our bones
Buried in the recesses of hearts
While we wander the streets
Clutching to our rags
Nursing broken dreams
Scampering like mice in the night
Tugging at loose ends
On the pieces of frayed cloth
For the unspoken promises
The light at the end of the tunnel
The reward from the journey
You didn't believe me
When I said survival is for the fittest
But you have seen for yourself
There are no such things as miracles