Category Archives: free verse

RIVER GOD

 

 

They say

If you leave a rough little child

Long enough by the river bank

He will become better

 

He will be washed clean

And gently be eroded

By the clear running water

Till he ceases to exist

 

Intermission…

 

Been years waiting by the river bank

I am still the same

Maybe he will come

Maybe he will do as he wants

And I will have no say

 

I remain the same

Even if I feel dry during the drought

And I can’t pretty much find passion for anything

I can’t even notice I am dry

 

Or choked during the rains

And can’t handle all the normal things

Other human beings enjoy handling

All the pleasant emotions and moments

And miracles and experiences

 

The heat refused to melt me

During the harshest of times

And cold means little to me

I don’t take pleasure in being aloof

 

I am still waiting

Maybe he will come

To touch me

That is all I want

 

Maybe he will touch me

At my curves and spots

And straighten me out

Softly

Firmly

Slowly

Making me wet

He won’t be rough or harsh

He will just touch my edges lightly

And gradually smoothen me out

 

Please come

River spirit

This little stone is rough

Make it smooth

 

Been waiting here by the river bank

All these years

Watching all those seasons and tides

Remaining unchanged

 

But when he comes

The river god will use his water

To smoothen me out

As he makes me wet all over

 

 

Or maybe just for luck

He will wear me out

As water erodes the rock

And that will be the end of my story!

 

BACKGROUND: “River God” by Nicole Nordeman playing in the background.

I am taking a step back tonight from shamelessly bemoaning and eulogizing the sad state of life today.

I am taking a step forward today into the hope that things will be better and light will shine.

But, somehow, I am still carrying the cynicism along with me through the door into that hope.

 

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PRONE TO WANDER

image

Some say rain settles the scattering heart
Some argue it enrages the wandering

The rains have started and things are as they should be
The floods have come for my roof which was built to last
After which they reach for my soul which was meant to stay
I thought I was lost in a sweet dream
Not knowing the showers are from an actual leaking roof
In the midnight I wake
Lightning lights my flooded room

Oh darn!

I don’t try to light the candle with my wet matches
I don’t reach for my rechargeable lamp
Which of course is dead
Thankful electricity is long gone
And I don’t have to step into a flood of shocks

They say rain enrages the wandering heart.

(Intermission…)

I have never built a home to last
I know I am always set to move with the next turn of the season
I don’t spend two seasons in one place
I don’t settle down and take roots
In friends and jobs and titles and neighbourhoods
I don’t plan for that future
I don’t carry a rope with me to tie myself down to anyone with
I don’t even carry a printer to print certificates and garner awards

The heart is not wild or rebellious
It is just prone to wander

It finds discomfort in calmness and weakness in stability
So I take a sweet flower with me wherever I go
To give those around who would be close to me
And whilst they see it as a pleasant gesture
I am watching for when the flower-fade begins
As a timer for my departure

People kid themselves
Don’t human physiology and psychology teach one thing
All are in constant state of activity
Even in the depth of that most restful sleep
The body is still active
Only dead things settle down

It is not deliberate
Things have just come to be the way they are
Hairs are always on end
Sleeping with eyes wide open
Hands always reached out
Feet always itching to move

Till the day I grew tired of it
And finally decided to make a home

Well now, here’s back to the start and end of the story

Settled finally in my home
At the start of the rainy season
Which is always a reminder to count
The many showers of blessings in my short life
The rain tears through my roof
In the middle of this night
I wake up in the middle of my house
The room dark and flooded
Full of possessions and loved ones
Grab that bag I kept in the corner of the wardrobe
And in 5 seconds I’m out the house
Only my boxers on
Not even stopping to check
If everyone else is alive in the flooded space
Sling my bag over my broad thickened shoulders
And leap through the window of the upper bedroom
My bare feet making no sound on the floor below
In the middle of the stormy rain
In the middle of the night

image

My bag containing the two ONLY possessions
My wandering heart
And a beautiful rose
__________________________________________

BACKGROUND: “Quiet times” by Dido Armstrong playing in the background; and I echo “It’s hard enough to see the world as it is, and hold on anything”.

“Caution: what cynicism you may accuse me of is what you humanity has shown me. I am just a mirror; and my writings are not my own.” -JANISH

Mankind has done it again. The heart is by far more unpredictable than the weather. I am amazed afresh at how we behave. No, I have not seen it all! I have seen a lot, and I should be used to how our minds dance; but it amazes me afresh with some sparks of ingenuity. And I am left asking, fallen on the dancefloor, “how did you do that?” It does not follow any rule of love or reason. It does not even follow itself. It just wanders… drifts… fluctuates… dissociates….

On growing up -feelings.

Ah! The guileless smile I once had and may never have. Now, all facial expressions have hidden meanings. (Source: funmag.org)

If I smiled only when feeling happy,

How did I make my husband think all was well between us

When he forgot my birthday whilst at work yesterday

How do I make my harsh bosses think I like them

When I’m passively considering killing one of them as a lesson

How would I make the world believe my life a bed of roses

When asked about the exams I actually failed

How would I make pastor keep believing God only gives riches

When I haven’t eaten today as at this night of writing this

 

If I cried only when sad,

How do I make my lover know how hurtful his deceptions are

Hoping he won’t think I cry because I’m moved by his sugary words

How did I let my roommate know the scorpion sting hurt

Hoping he didn’t think it was because of my heartbreak

How would I let her know how much I missed her

Hoping she wouldn’t think I hurt from kneeling for too long

How would I make them know how funny and ridiculous they were

Hoping they wouldn’t think I was hot with jealousy

 

I have learnt what you wanted me to

You told me I needed to be smart and savvy

That I had to stop being naïve and grow up

And realise things aren’t always so simple

Well, I hope you can tell I have followed you obediently

And this is not just an act to get you off my neck

I hope you can tell I appreciate your seeing this

And I am not somewhat indifferent to what you really think

 

If only writers and writings were always sincere…

a song for my itch

Say the words
Speak these words NOW
You can choose to read them
Or sing them like an acapella
You may even spice them up with a rock guitar
But please let out these words like you mean them
Read these lines to me just as I am writing them
Just like I have written them
Only then can I cry

 

https://i1.wp.com/0.tqn.com/d/space/1/S/G/9/1/EarthBallBlack.jpg.jpg

Who knew a lot could happen inside such a small round ball! (Source: http://0.tqn.com)

 

Listening to these reflections of my pain
Hearing these echoes of my frustrations
Will be the magic to unlocking the floodgates
Then I will cry
Then I will let it all out
These words are the ones that can cut into me
And start the bloodletting
Say them just as I have written them
Miss no line or cue or punctuation
Every letter has been put here with care
Every letter symbolizing every day I have lived with pain
Every word symbolizing the different sorrows that plague me
Every line symbolizing the years I have bottled up within
These words I could never get to say out
I have no means of release
Even as I write these lines
I feel minimal pain

From the times I have shaken my head
At the person of the Browne
The masks we humans use

From the days I have meditated
Upon the ironic portrayals of the Trent of the planet
The collective tragedies of our race

From the moments I have wondered
At the Tango’s stories of the family
The seasons of our lives

From the eternities I have sighed
At the Shard’s dirges of personal dilemmas
And the fight between humanity and divinity

And who’s to say how far we know or lack
When Julien keeps speaking from his abundance of knowledge
About how useless man’s knowledge largely is

The dark and cloudy days

Take it in step
Don’t rush the moment
Don’t drag it
Let me hear the words gradually
Let it escalate patiently kindly
Remind me of the sad state of humanity
Tell me something I didn’t know
About the depths we are exploring
Newer depths we might sink into
Deceiving ourselves it is the search for knowledge
Truth and liberation
Has the bar ever been lower
Remind me of the ridiculous drama
We all have been auditioned for
A game between fate and choice
How pathetically ironic
That we should quarrel over those two
Don’t rush it
In fact, this is where you take a pause
Avoid a premature climax
Break the progression to the peak
You’ll take it up later again

RAPED

RAPED

[High-pitched melodious music]

A newborn baby is born

https://i0.wp.com/i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02183/baby-max_2183067b.jpg

How innocent! *sardonic snigger* (source: telegraph.co.uk)

 

I came into the world

Pure and innocent

Through a round, soft, most-abused road

The road travelled by all men

Both sages and fools alike

I was completely unbothered about the strange environment

I was invincible after all

And for my sake alone the universe had slowed

 

Then the buxom midwife raped me!

As she snatched me from my mother

And cut off that soft secure attachment

Like a sexual sadist roughened me

A patting here, a smothering there

Said she was trying to make me cry

She told my mum crying babies made her horny

She then rubbed oil all over me

Just the way she liked it

And mom looked on

She had even dared dip a dildo* into my mouth

Said she needed to suck out the mucus in my throat

I knew I saw something creamy in that sinful tunnel

Same tunnel that had traversed the road from whence I came

The sinful tunnel

Used by sages and fools alike

On the round soft road

And I could swear this cream was going into my mouth

And not coming out as she lied to my mother

I cried!!!

L..o…u…d…….

Mom smiled

Her baby was crying

I wish I could tell her what was happening to me

 

I was being defiled

I wept for what seemed like hours

Mom later told me I had cried at birth for about 50 whole seconds!

 

[Spit!]

 

The midwife had fondled with my fragile sinless gonads

Said she was wiping off the meconium*

Is coprophilia* even real?

 

Finally, rest comes

God rested on the seventh day

I was settling down on the eighth day

When the doctor pulled his stunt

 

This paedophile called it circumcision

As he clamped my innocent sweet little hot-doggy penis

And he cut the crown of pride away

Yet he wasn’t sued

 

Eventually I grew older

 

[Sigh!]

 

Oh father, dear father!

“Son, once upon a time I killed a lion.

Santa Claus lives at the North Pole

God is a sky-giant-djinee who lives to grant all your wishes”

 

[Spit!]

 

I am in for a life of lies and trials

Rape comes in different circumstances.

 

{To be continued…}

Word helper:

Dildo: Should mean an artificial penis, but I think what the midwife used was the regular suction tube for newborns.

Meconium: the first faeces of a newborn, usually stains the pelvis.

Coprophilia: a sexual preference for faeces. It’s a real condition. I did not make it up. Google it.
__________________________________________________________________________

BACKGROUND: As any frequent visitor might guess, this is a bit too vulgar for my usual themes in writing.

Anyway, I stumbled upon bits of this I wrote from a while ago and it seemed very appropriate to develop and finally post. This is because of how I feel when I consider the state of humanity and planet today. I feel I must repeat: even though my writings seem mostly cynical, I actually have good thoughts regarding humanity generally. Despite these good thoughts, the sad reality is: these are critical times to bring a child into, and I wonder what I will say if I should make it to the close of this century. I wonder how starkly different the next 50 years are gonna be, in everything –science and technology, law and crime, morals and spirituality, art and entertainment, ecosystem and energy.

This very thought is heavy enough to keep awake all night tonight.