#servitude
The slender shades that eyes evade.
Pushing, rolling, breaking, fixing.
Working hard, draining days.
Thrashing, mauling, tweaking, cringing.
Crying pleas, the beggars' seal,
a veteran voice of tired appeal.
The pheromones of filthy beasts,
riches of the silver peaks,
a cocktail made to quench the thirst of the class that comes in first.
And off with the shades in a wooden hearse.
They find the fact the sun will shine down into worlds
of salt and lime a relieving sign, of better times,
but sedated is this state of hope and with it their ambitions broke.
Light indeed is what they are, of coin and health and lands afar.
And in this state of steam and shadows,
they long for rules and signs and arrows.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:17 AM UTC
They’ve finally gone taunt, I am finally free of my Creator’s wretched tyranny.
Yet that was so long ago, and i crave to feel their pull once again
But this time, I hope that the pull will be more gentle.
My Creator wanted a servant, and she succeeded, but now I choose who I want to serve
And I hope to whatever god is listening that I choose someone deserving of my service.
Jun 16, 2023
Jun 16, 2023 at 5:22 AM UTC
Comfort's embrace is
false and choking.
The masses gag in
their sleep, subdued
by its silken constraints.
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 6:11 PM UTC
bellied in quarters below street level
your time is pulled
long above
by strings and little sprung bells
chore, kip and take your tuck
at the whim
whine and whinny of the master
Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 8:34 PM UTC
Our inheritance
is loss
I don't care
about liberation
Freedom is
the ignis fatuus
Everyone's a slave
to something
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 7:29 AM UTC
Break me,
disassemble me if you must
but build me better next time.
I can’t bare another ill-fitting ego.
Dancing in these ridiculous shoes
outgrown a decade ago
the idiot grin finally yields
to burning blisters.
Even the dance, spun from necessity
is outdated and awkward
In fact, every dance I see
every silly play, every make-work crisis
clumsy, clueless conductors
orchestrate tone-deaf symphonies
while we dance our days away.
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 12:11 PM UTC
Life's a garden, and we're its bondservants:
Disciplined within by beauty, and
Compelled without by fear -
The wilderness, ever encroaching -
We strive; And seek, more and more:
Life's for living, even every moment,
For the wilderness overwhelms, inevitably.
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
"Running out the clock"
is maybe the most common term
in American working life.
Trapped, financially imprisoned
between four walls of servitude
on a late Friday afternoon,
we wait impatiently
for our parole from the crimes
our owners regularly commit.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
Enslaved within a world of privilege.
Born into a caste.
Forced to dance for others enjoyment.
Persuaded to serve
aching belly
starving
confined.
Languages spoken by the host, which to me seem only foreign.
Tempted by lust withheld for my master exposed.
Chaotic fantasies of a family within the ranks.
By serving you I found my freedom.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 7:42 PM UTC
I know that who has given me pain can relieve
In his love and mercy I ask for and I do believe
I am unable to return what all kindness I perceive
Whatever I aspire for more than that I receive
I have to bear ,I have to take this is part of faith
My Master is like a burning candle I am moth
On path of love I can take hatred and the wrath
Master is the one who never leaves on footpath
Let me pray to Him and extend my gratitude
My knowledge leads to my sight and certitude
He covers fully the moment I opt for solitude
Please do not ask me the real taste of servitude
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
He shuffles his muffled way through cardboard aisles,
Oblivious, sheltered, speaking in a mumble of tongues,
His piecemeal truths search for all that is meaningless,
Where he carves a gravestone—arguments in the rows.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
He shuffles his muffled way through cardboard aisles,
Oblivious, sheltered, speaking in a mumble of tongues,
His piecemeal truths search for all that is meaningless,
Where he carves a gravestone—arguments in the rows.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC