My thoughts, words, verses…

Archive for the ‘Verses’ Category

Explosion

In one of those moments that now seems prescient,
You said, it’s all going to end badly
I didn’t know what you were talking about then
It was a simple conversation between us friends
A, B, C, you and me, after a couple of drinks
Around the time when ribbing each other on love life
Gives way to discussing politics.
We were always the peacemakers, you and I,
Probably because we were usually more sober than the rest
Or maybe because we had seen it, first-hand
How lifelong kinships are ripped apart by a few words of discord
How amiable neighbours turn indifferent at best and abettors at worst
When the monkeys come to roost
(You see what I did there? Monkeys don’t roost!)
So in that moment, when spirits were flowing and spirits were rising
B said, oh, you are all paranoid
You don’t believe a good thing when you see it
You are so used to looking for monsters under the bed
That you invent them when they’re not there
No, no—said A—it really is getting suffocating
You can’t see it because your life is secure in your plush condominium
C—usually a fence-sitter—rose up in indignation
You think I haven’t seen the world? Haven’t seen death, rot and misery?
I have seen it all, but I’ve made the life I live now
With bare hands and dirt beneath my nails
So—B interrupted—you see how things have changed?
From misery to mansions, your life has transformed.
And how did that happen?
And on and on they went, running circles around each other
While you and I watched like we weren’t there
Like it was a football match on TV.
Tempers rose, as was inevitable
Wives and relatives were pulled in and defended
By this time, I was asking for the bill
So we could leave
And then, you spoke:
This. This life. Circumstantial or deliberate,
It’s preciousssss.
The ‘S’ went on as your last breath escaped
And your eyes froze in a permanent stare.
While I looked at the debris of civilization
Scattered around me after the explosion.
It did end badly. For all of us.

The soldier and the student leader

The soldier

Fierce, chilly winds
Icicles piercing my face
Glares piercing my eyes
As I stare at my adversary
In another nation’s garb
Across an expanse that
Promises to swallow us both
I stand my guard
I face the storms
I don’t question
Questions will get me killed
I stand my guard
So that you can sleep at night.

The student leader

Raging emotions
Stifled voices, choking sounds
Surround me as I take the stage
To sing an unpopular tune
To beat a drum so stretched
I don’t know if it will last a single beat
The song has no chorus, no verses
Just one line repeated ad nauseam
You teach me so I can think
You teach me so I can think
Others join me, add more words
But the only problem word is THINK
The song is done
The drum tears
Tempers fray
And I find myself
Crushed by a stampede
Lying on the ground
Looking at the stars
For me, there is no sleep.

The soldier

Who am I fighting for?
The flag I pledge my allegiance to
My fellow soldiers
My officer
My love, my children
My pride.
The coins that rattle in the bank
The forgotten promises
The six months of frozen hell?

The student leader

The rabid crowds feeding on fear
Hoist me up and I become
A symbol
An icon of misplaced bravado
I want to climb down
And sit with you, talk to you
About my dreams
Of pink sunsets and orange dawns
And air that is crisp but free.
But that is not to be.
My thoughts have been trapped
In a little box
And fed to a giant gramophone
With the volume control
In someone else’s hands.
Whose tune does it play?
Mine? Yours? Or His Master’s?

The soldier

Take me back to my home
Walls cobbled together
With cataract-ridden aspirations
And the mould-eaten door
At which my mother awaits
Her martyred son.

The student leader

Take me back to my home
Cow-dung cakes light hungry hearts
With hope, but instead
My father is met with
Angry flashes of questioning cameras
Baying for his son’s blood.

And lies fill coffins.
And lies fill minds.

Eviscerate

A figment of my imagination
Or something real, tangible
I don’t what to call that moment
When you left.

It must be real, for you are not there
It must be real, for the room is empty
And the curtains blow in the wind of wishes
I stand there, looking around for traces
That suggest you were there
A comb with one strand of hair left behind
A book dog-eared on the page you narrated to me
A necktie still twisted in the Prince Albert knot you had mastered
You were there.
You are here.
Right now.
So it must be my imagination.

But I stand here
Eviscerated by the loss
Of you
Of us.

Crossroads

At every crossroad, a choice
And there are many crossroads
And many choices
So why the panic every time?
Doesn’t practice make perfect?
Or does it make me less accepting 
Of wrong turns and fuel burns?

Once the choice is made, there must be rest
Or a sense of relief that the lump is gone.
But no, a little of me is lost after every decision
An erosion of innocence
Another layer of writing on what was once a blank canvas.

Is the loss of innocence tragic?
Of course not.
It merely means that ignorance, the lazy recluse
Must also go. 
Floundering ahead is no longer an option
A clearer path must be forged.

At every crossroad, another chance
To set course for new adventures
And new alliances
For the innocent babe has no friends
Only comfort and protection suppliers.
Shared experiences make for sympathetic co-travellers.
The journey must be made, crossroads and all. 

Drop

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For a long time I watched it
Stuck tenuously and tenaciously
To the tip of a leaf
A perfectly formed drop of moisture
And till I watched, it remained
Unaware of the certain fall any instant
I, on the other hand, was aware
I knew this was just time standing still
I knew the fall was imminent
But for now, it seemed to stretch to eternity
A moment suspended, a thought suspended
Hope suspended, beauty suspended
Life itself suspended
Then I turned away
And when I turned back, the drop had fallen
Splat on the floor
The drop was gone,
My moment snatched
Because I had looked away for a second.

Forget

I could forget
The language we created
Words only we could understand
Meanings that only we could derive.
I could forget
The places we marked as ours
Roads that only we knew the way through
Monuments that we erected and we visited from time to time.
I could forget
The rivers we bathed in
The oceans where the waves rose and ebbed for us
Boats we made to survive whirpools and tsunamis.
I really could forget all those juvenile attempts
At making our love immortal, unique.
It isn’t, ask the hundred million others who built the same dreams.
What I can’t forget is you, me, us. Can you?

Who am I

Who am I but the last leaf
In a four-leaf clover
Unaware of the power
I could yield, if only I knew.

Who am I but the vacant house
About to be occupied
Unaware of the dreams
That I am about to fulfil.

Who am I but the rim of a cup
On the verge of brimming
Unaware conduit of succour
For the waiting lips.

Who am I
If not possibilities
If not almost there
If not for that one gentle push
If not perfection minus one?

I am all that and more.

Off-key

Another note strikes odd, 
Broken keys or trembling fingers?
I try again and again,
I hear it in my mind, 
But in playing it’s not the same,
Years of perspiration come to nought 
Struggling to control motor skills 
And surrender to masterful art
But the body wins over mind,
Or does the mind lose to the body?
Mortal concerns versus divine timeless harmony
No David and Goliath this,
The fight is equal
Because in the end,
I am the music,
The music is not without me.
And so the odd note stays suspended in the air
While I hear the penny drop.

Another moment

Deviating from the immediate
I look past faces, drapery, windows
To the rolling waves outside
Predictable patterns soothe me
But also lull me into somnolence 
Illicit movements escape my eyes
And I let them,
Because really, who wants to disturb status quo
I am awash with a sense of paranoia,
Because I have let complacence take over 
So what do I do now?
Stay frozen, staring at the view outside
Or pull myself back? 
For how long do I have a choice
Should I not let time do its thing? 
The paralysis has passed, 
I wrest control
I rest controlled.

Dream Again

Diminutive men
Try to stretch themselves 
To fill large shoes
Left behind
By giants
After a bloody war 
With gods.
Courage won’t help
Strength doesn’t count
Fortitude? That will only lessen the pain
Then what will make men
Rise again to become giants that challenge gods?
The power to dream.