"wiseacre" poems
News! News! in its surrealistic gear,
Charles Darwin of England has resurrected,
He is here in Africa, roaming the deserts
In the savannah belts of Turkana Land,
Looking for African skulls for a second living.
He is in the company of Richard Leakey,
Talking among themselves with air of comradeship,
Behaving wiseacre over the Africans there,
Looking from place to place to rename
The current African humans,
He has already named people of Kenya
And all the people in the subhara of Africa
With a new paradoxical evolutionary tag,
They are now homotribaliticus Africanus,
A tag reflecting African tribalism in politics,
He has met the Chinese and renamed them too,
They are now homo-pecunias asianicus
Or the money making Asians,
Darwin has freshly renamed Americans
This time round not as caucasoids,
But as homocapitalisticus putinis stupidous,
His shrewdness did not go with erstwhile death,
He also has s pecial evolutionary tag for Africans
Zinjipoliticus idioticus, or the fools who die politically.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
A thousand miles west of me
She lies in a nursing home bed,
Oxygen and medications
Prolonging the end of a well-lived life.
This night, the weariness settles around me,
A grim comfort promising sleep,
If only I may close my eyes in surrender....
As if my staying awake somehow sustains her.
Eldest of her sons,
Sometimes wise,
Sometimes wiseacre,
Sometimes a visioning prophet,
Sometimes a fumbler in the dark,
I am empty of words tonight.
What wisdom have I now
When wisdom's called for?
Decisions to be made, and naught to say:
I'd give my kingdom for the wisest way.
Oh, I have prayed,
Have pleaded with the skies....
I suffer in the silent darkness.
Knowing Mother's youth and strength are spent;
Time's inexorable turning pulls her in,
Body nearly gone, reason razor thin
Tell me her fight's a battle Time will win.
But now, while the hovering remains,
The wretched anguish overhangs my soul,
And memories of Mother, young and strong,
Tireless and loving, industrious, filled with song,
Make poignant my pre-mourning hours.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
It Would Be a Cold Day in Hell
by Mutasem Amayreh
You heard my story
Tongue-tied
My crowning glory
In a World-wide
Eye-folded
Yet in a cottage
tied
One day
The owner scolded
The bushy eyebrows
Frowned
On the scent of treason
Yelped the hound
During the peak season
Different colored Inks spilled
One iota of sound reason
The Mantle it pilled
What follow that I
detest
While sight-blinded
Began the Rorschach test
The process, long-winded
I didn’t hesitate
That one-sided picture
Of the issue
Started to imitate
Composed a tissue
of lies
Didn’t freak
Cut my ties
Promised Ink won’t leak
Believed the wiseacre
That talent spotter
Never become a risk-taker
But a life-long voter.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
"If you want peace, be prepared for war
Which is a sure thing without any either - or.
Is there anyone open to non-violence walk
Who has that drive for a peace talk ?
War must be fought think I, with no other solution
Guns once bunkered up won't know dissolution.
Call then the soldiers, set up the cannons
Destroy the forts, bulldoze the mansions.
Let unstinted carnage reign supreme everywhere
Procure the bombs today that lay the earth threadbare.
Not a soul should survive, I issue the command,
If any peace - promoter found, send him on remand.
Should one signal out any olive branch,
Tell him peace has now no chance.
Riding with power, I shall be the omnipotent supreme
Subjugating the world to my feet is my only dream.
Thought of war fails to give me moral jitter,
War will be raged finally, with repercussions bitter.
Sanguinary will be the history now as tainted will be the scene
The seen will be unseen henceforth as the unseen will be seen.
Enough of chasing elusive peace; now bullets from drone,
Wives will wail now and mothers will groan".
Thus finished he; History testifies that a dictator had his will,
Throbbed the cruel heart saying go for the ****
The heartless soul is deaf and dead to the peace notion
You debate for; he only debates against the motion.
War is a **** thing; a butchery; no act of a sage,
Humanity must reign supreme for all the world's a stage.
It's vivid that the aforesaid was uttered by a bragging wiseacre,
For this song digs at such rulers; is, at bottom, a power caricature.
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 10:36 AM UTC