"backbreaking" poems
The flower of creativity withers and dies
from the waters of society's lies.
The petals shrivel and dip
from parents backbreaking grip.
The leaves crack and crumble
from those trying to be humble.
The stem breaks and falls
trapped in the cage of these walls.
The flower of creativity is now a distant memory,
the soil now becomes empty.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
As twilight descends on the city
Bright lights adorn the cityscape
As if the stars have come to decorate
The bustling party, where everyone is invited
Streets, alleys, pathways, boulevard- sparkling
With electrifying wattage, reminiscent of the celebrations
People returning home after a hard day’s work
With a slouch, after the backbreaking toil
The city lights up to entertain the weary passersby
Gives some solace to the mind, before another day beckons
The grim reality of the fast-paced city life is forgotten
As it’s time to celebrate another evening
Despite all the hardships and bickering among each other
There is always the dazzle of city lights to bathe with life
Rejuvenate us and entertain us; helping to cope with reality
The city crowd is amazing, where there is always a crowd
Despite being surrounded by people, yet we are alone
People flashing a forced smile to greet each other
Food stalls are a great leveler, where global cuisines are served
Bringing the flavors across the world, to the local taste buds
Everyone is in the limelight, under the city lights
Even the dark alleys and treacherous places align seamlessly
Yet, the city sees so many segregation and prejudices
The city lights don’t seem to illuminate all minds alike
All said and done, let’s be a part of the city’s party
As we are all invited, and revel till the city lights burn bright
© Amitav (Radiance)
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
Quite a draining journey
traveling through this drainage tunnel
groping my way through the disorienting darkness
arms of lifelessness reach out from the walls
constantly tugging at my shirt
it's my health that they hurt
when I try to run
they grab and stun
forcing me to buy movement
at the price of energy
they hold tokens in their hands
inscribed with the drainage brand
like the hair from the drain in my sink
or the phlegm drained from my sinuses
I wade through the **** of stomach minuses
moving through a drainage tunnel death funnel
aches develop in my feet
as well as my back
I can't handle the heat
or how the inside is black
I start walking slower and slower
as the ceiling gets lower and lower
the backbreaking pressure
makes my height lesser
so I crawl through the filth
of all this drainage I built
the hands that hold me down
are now my only company
their frustrating grabbing
now feels like a lulling caress
coaxing me to stay in this tunnel
all other voices are muddled
because of the drainage in my ear
blocking communication with fear
a wall of wax
that won't collapse
creates an axe
to cut off my head
from suffering dread
wondering when this tunnel will end
because there's no light to be found
in this tunnel I crawl down
gagged and bound
from the hands all around
grabbing at my brain
to push it down the drain.
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 10:41 AM UTC
It's a typical situation, in these typical times; too many choices and so many crimes. Caught between this and stuck behind that, proverbial rock and hard place, harsher than fact. A maze of confusion, doubts all around. Wondering what will happen if solid ground is not found. The difficult dance of very fine lines, balancing grace with independence that shines. Dancing our way thru friendships we cherish, trying our hardest to not let them perish. Sometimes we slip and fall off the slope, tumbling to the bottom, heart robbed of hope. Looking up at the peak so far from attaining, gritting our teeth against the pain that we're obtaining. Scabs and bruises, stab wounds and breaks. Our bodies may be whole but the heart never fake, telling the tale of our costly mistakes. Try as we might we continue to stumble, tripping on heartstrings unraveled and jumbled. Longing for a world where things are simple, yearning for a life that's a little more gentle. Kinder to those who actually care, about their jobs and their families who's houses they share. Backbreaking toil to see a child filled with joy, from the presents he's given by his parents employ. A life that's understanding when loved ones die, giving grace to those who must drop all and fly. To be there for a grandfather they loved so dear, be able to say "I wish you were here." Alas life is cruel, twisted, filled with thorn, causing some to wonder "why was I born?"
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
This country was built on greed.
All the white men had desires;
Gold, God and Glory their creed.
Sin loves to travel in packs
wrath came next to spill blood.
The Great Spirit received many guests.
Having desires is not a sin.
Sin entered when men were sold
to backbreaking work for another’s gain.
***** blood fueled the Southern Kingdom
greed begot sloth which begot fear
slavery became too valuable to lose.
So in the great American tradition
compromise became the easy way out.
Why fight for 3/5 a person;
instead bounce between slave and free
making all envy the southern wealth
a perfect illusion hiding white poor.
Fast forward to the Postbellum south.
Half the wealth has become man
equality will mean Southern prosperity’s death.
The south needs labor to rebuild
sharecropping and convict leasing slavery’s ********
will help keep the ***** down.
When men become numbers society fails.
Why not work them to death?
Just grab another to lay rails.
Once being black is a crime
it’s simple to justify white pride.
Fear will keep those ******* inline.
So do not blame Big Business
for the destruction they routinely cause.
Save your petitions to our congress
they can’t even touch the monster.
We devour all that we see
but that’s our countries original Sin.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
Because inventing heaven
from pebble and mist
was backbreaking,
heartquaking
work
and
because I
shivered with
fever, my body lit
by rapture unfathomed,
I sought stillness in the mouth
of the ocean, gave myself
to her shallows and,
with sleepy eyes,
said
*Leave
me here.*
You laid hands to my
dreaming curves. They became
dunes, shifting; you filled my sky with birds.
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 5:46 PM UTC
I am just
Massive corroded batteries
Inside an electric fence
Turned on
Overused fluids and
Exposed wires
Rolling blackouts
Security breach
Franklin and Tesla and Edison
A backbreaking craft
Destroyed without protection or
High voltage
Floodlights on, flickering
Always blinding, green.
Plugged into
An oil slick
Atomic energy
To power the borders
But throw one switch
A primitive word
The prison is powerless
The wires short circuit
The guards
are all
Electrocuted.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
Here's a piece of my mind
A puzzle that is me
I'm a little blind
And all of my thoughts are lost in a sea
But that's a little part of my mind
I seem fierce and confident
But in actuality, I'm the opposite
This mindset is not always constant
Everything in me is like a conglomerate
But that's just a little part of my mind
One minute my mind is a green meadow
The next is a burning forest screaming
Everyone in the afterglow
Meanwhile, I feel I am a nightmare dreaming
But that's just a little part of my mind
Every day I feel my heart-breaking
Craking more little by little
The pain becoming backbreaking
Wanting me to go to a hospital
But that's just a little part of my mind
In the end, on the other hand, I try
With only one savior in the waiting love
I've tried many times to say goodbye
But I can't because of the want, thereof
Hidding the pieces of my mind
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
A darkened path, a search for the night. A walk through the valley of hope, down the isle of wishes. I sort the source of his rage, the antecedents of his ways. His name, Father.
A mentor to some, a dementor to many. His rule of Iron, staunch in his antique ways. Sometimes I think him Gothic, clogged by wrath. Like a counter-fort of fire, albeit difficult to fathom, backbreaking to assimilate.
His ways full of thorns, his path curly in my eyes, straight in his words. His buffonious look, like cold water on a burning star. As a child I felt like a Marie, his transformations made me fiasco. Because in him I was born, soon after, born in me was his touch. My cries like that of a toothless dog, a tongueless convict.
But then I think myself a miniature of his. A live labyrinth built over the years. Analogous to his countenated nature.
I suppose I would strive to lacerate my soul
from his spell. To be at liberty with my spirit, because in me he lives. To be to my apprehended child the fore-bearer I never had.
----------
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 4:15 AM UTC
my procrastination
it's a funny thing
only applying to the things i love
when they are forced upon me
give me a packet of mathematics
burden me with backbreaking tasks
hand me a bowl of poison
and i will gladly get it over with--if only to cease its hold over me
yet compel me to read
oblige me to complete my part in a choir
and i will fight
languidly stubborn until i am forced into compliance
to do what i should love
but hate
simply because it is forced on me
i will fight it off
it's my own funny little brand of sloth
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
All the soil has been turned over because we are waiting on a harvest of potatoes and corn, and even the clouds in the sky become ominous signs promising warnings of rain
All the soil had been turned over by our backbreaking soul shattering work because we know without our effort we will surely starve and be empty souls
All the soil has been turned over because we know that spring is coming soon and the new seeds that we plant will surely become our sustenance
All the soil has been turned over in hopes of the future
Still I can't forget the past when the harvest moon brought a promise of enough food to last me the rest of my life when I could dine forever on dishes that never get old
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
A ceaseless motion
hither and yonder
like the jumbling of blind ants
in a narrow path
of wet pheromones.
Backbreaking labor
A cruel slaver
lashing his whip
that cracks painfully
drawing blood from the back
of the hapless wretch.
A joke that amuses no one
An insufferable itch
demanding to be scratched
so hard that it bleeds
Then in a moment
snuffed.
Asphyxiated and forgotten.
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 10:06 AM UTC
Fringe seekers, yearning for truth
How alienated and alone are you
What vacuum of truth are you seeking?
What expression of you are you speaking
You have fallen into a bottomless well
Where safety is the only hell
Down you go
Like Alice
Down and down
It’s a wonderland of your own making
Backbreaking, Earthshaking. Heartbreaking
Painstaking undertaking
While the Queen yells
Off with her head
You lay dead
In the place where
Angels fear to thread
And they pour happiness molecules
into your head
Fools jewels
Because you are stubborn as a mule
And it all seems so cruel
And won’t learn your lesson
I told you it’s you
You, you, you
And there’s nothing I can do
It’s just a fantasy
Of your own making
The curious come to seek the keys
Keys to the kingdom
The doors are too small
The keys are too big
And nothing seems to fit
Pardon moi, si vous plait
Do you happen to know the way?
Qui mademoiselle
The way, quite simply, is anyway
It’s all just play
Play, play, play
I would like to play
Then why do I feel this way?
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 2:32 PM UTC
It's hard trying to be girl with a Mexican background in her
Own country:
But yet the same way its hard being some alien as some will call us because sure, we. Can
And will
Get jobs
For three dollars a backbreaking hour,
But alien's we are not
The real aliens are the ones in my homeland"
Trying to steal land
Just like they did America!
And they call us alien's
Get it right.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
I have changed and I am changing.
Like this town,
Old facades fall
And the promise of a better way
Rises from the rubble of memories
Warm and familiar.
The old and the new find space here.
The stone past and the fluid present,
The river and the bridge,
The arches of then bend over
The current of now,
Cut out and carved,
Twisting and flowing.
Lines cast still,
Hooks reel in empty
And they do it all again,
As I love and lose
And do it all again,
Rebuilding my abutments
For a third time since arriving here.
This time the work is slow.
One hand shovels,
Filling in the holes love left behind
When it departed.
Ripping my supports from their foundation
Deep in the earth,
Beneath the running water.
The other scrubs away the future
From the slate of my expectations.
As what was etched there
Has turned to mere delusion,
I must start again at engraving
A more plausible picture.
But the lines were chiseled deep
By my determined hands
So the work of erasing draws on and on.
To create and destroy at the same time,
Like the water erodes the bank
While carrying the assurance of life
Through the verdant landscape
To the abundant sea.
I wish I could call this growth.
While I hope this laboring is not in vain
There is no knowing if any of it will leave me
With the foundation of self I seek.
This backbreaking toil
Is merely to break even,
To give me a dry place to stand.
The sun now departs.
Orange dipping behind green
The light turns blue,
And I need a jacket.
Shivering, I stand
To find warmth.
May 19, 2024
May 19, 2024 at 8:14 PM UTC