poetry

And after your lightning and thunder
A fresh rain will come
Sprouting new buds and petals
Spreading diverse colours of freedom.
That song I will sing
For the sake of all songs to come!

He leaned forward, on the Visiting Room chair,
cupped her frowning face
in his big, warm, caring hands
and with nothing but sincerity and well meaning, said
“Start to ignore that Devil
who’s pushed itself to the front
of your shipwrecked mind… deny it power.
There’s an Angel standing, waiting… just behind.
You have a beautiful, loving side to you
and you have so much to still give…
it’s just become lost in the fractured chaos.
You are not ‘Nuts’ you are ‘Hurt’
and wounded animals lash out and bite when prodded.

Though I not
to his side be won,
Nor to his belief
All three are one,
Thought not of Rome
in those ancient times
to Canterbury sent
but bless he whose bat
to the Nursery went
the winds and chimes
no father hears
No prayers nor relics,
nor futile tears,
Straight the wood
and fair the eye
may they make
their bowler comply
And when the scoring
Work subsides
And boundaries recede
like Severn tides
May all soon see
Not only wides
But a scoreboard

Is that hawk screaming
about whether or not
it believes in the existence of God?
Or simply seeking
across the distance
with a signal for its lover?
Is that blade of grass
straining against gravity
to grow taller toward the sky?
Or allowing its roots
below the ground
to do their business behind the scenes?
Is that cloud concerned
about bunkers being built
in fear of bombs?
Or being carried carefree
by a gentle breeze
blowing through the air?
Is that star all bent out of shape

Circumstance is just
One view of perspective
The polarity of the
Populist jargon
Becomes muffled under
The jagged rim of
Mulched lies and words
Sprinkled like fertilize
On the heads of the ignorant
Smiles and applause traded
For how things really are
Behind the curtain of
Revelation before the play begins.
My stage fright is not from
The audience, but rather the
Actors who take the stage.
I pay to watch a tragedy unfold
That I feel powerless to stop.

I am an eagle
The offspring of my nation,
I conquer the jungle
And defeat colonies,
I was made in the barracks.
I am a dove
I keep peace,
The passion of my mother
The mission of my father.
The blood of service
The bone of commitment,
The mind of patriotism
An oath of loyalty,
Gallant and vigilant
Young and enthusiastic,
I am made in the barracks.
Dad is here with Mum
Brother is here with sister,
Uncle is here with aunt
Nephew is here with niece,

Leaders high on power
Threaten war to pass the time.
They call us the criminals,
But they’re the ones who did the crime.
Laughing with their billions,
Gilding halls of their delight,
While the rest of us alone and hungry,
Cower, cold, in the night.
They fuel a rabid nationalism
And goad young men to hate.
They promise glory for our land,
But cloak our murky fate.
Compassion, won’t you touch men’s hearts?
Clarity, open their eyes.
Before all falls to chaotic hell,
Before the last hope dies.

Life is not painted
In black shades
Or white strokes
That is primitive
A lay-man’s take
Life is not painted
In black shades
Or white strokes
It is a canvas rich
In a variety of dyes
Blue of skies
Green of grass
Red of blood
Life is not painted
In black shades
Or white strokes
It is colorless
Color of rain
Color of wind
Color of emptiness
Life is not painted
In black shades
Or white strokes
Life is colors
Beyond black and white

You can hate me
Or berate me
You can despise me
But you will never compromise me
… I am stronger than that
You can cheat me
Or mistreat me
You can even beat me
But you will never defeat me
… I am stronger than that
You can patronize me
Or dehumanize me
You can try to use me
But you will never defuse me
… I am stronger than that
Do not pity me
Or try to empty me
Never try to slur me
You will never conquer me
… I am stronger than that

Analytically, outside
The city limits
‘The Age
Of Reason’
Is deterred.*
Now, here’s
To the cat
That sat
On the mat
In the school-house
No-one sought
To assemble…
(* Chibok, Nigeria)