From the dark alleyways of the winding cities
From the cruel men whizzing by on bikes
A million malicious molesting stares
Systematic yet unspoken strikes.
A secret culture, a bubbling hate
That rarely rears its ugly head
And remains as whirling fury and loss
Until the poor girl is dead.
Yet this shame, this horrible act
Lies eclipsed within the gloom
Of the small hated room, and within the soul
Of a small child brought into doom.
Staggering strains of a satanic song
Snatched out, spreading, silent screams
A scaring spear of skulking shade
Of stealthy psyche-snaring dreams.
Is this what shoul hold our girls in thrall?
Should hold our people in fear?
A violation of all that is sacred
And all that we hold dear?
Our society's shadows, sneaking up
Is this the impression we wish to cast?
Of a hidden culture of torture, abuse
Is this our remains that shall last?
Sunday, October 21, 2018
The Death of A Garden
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not. (Seamus Heaney, Blackberries)
A blessing of a garden, sunken low in the grass
Amongst the bushes that are the aphids' homes
Where the peonies and the zinnias jostle for room
To sink themselves into the chocolaty loam.
Walnut trees grow lazily, skimming the horizon
Shelled fruits littering the grass-choked ground
A small wren flitters about, skirting the shrubs
And picks up small kindling that lies scattered around.
A derelict fountain rises up from the earth
Moss's matted curls are now shattering its form
A limestone angel once bearing a pitcher
Now weathered and broken as if by a storm.
The tamarisks whisper secrets twisted
By winter winds into forgotten tongues
Unpruned dry brambles pierce their way
Into Mother Nature's dessicated lungs.
A rusted fence wends, curls, its way around
Languid and steady along the cobbled way
Sealing in this tumultous green tangle
That within its bounds grows yet astray.
Though the ochre primroses push up their scents
The entire garden smells musty, forgotten
The musky earthly scent and floral waves
Underlies something proliferating, rotten.
Through all these plants and crabby grass
An old oak tree lies twisted, stunted
Stooped over by age, trunk knotty and wrinkled
The sharp grooves of its bark now blunted.
It seems to know the ancient wisdom
Witnessing the coming and going of men
Across aeons long departed, and discarded
As time's wheel spun again and again.
But when the crickets stop their chirping
And garrulous wind is blustering far away
If you listen closely to the creaking branches
You may hear what he has to say-
"
I am the old oak of the garden green
And I have seen much on verdant plains
I have witnessed the rise of ancient suns
And the breach of the torrential rains.
Now I am knock-kneed and knobbly
And my trunk is beaten down by time
Yet I've bathed in the mist of thousand winters
And bore witness to many a crime.
A hollow juts deep inside my trunk
It has a dark pool where weasels hide
Many have sheltered in my boughs and nooks
And explored the breadth of my inside.
During the fall, my leaves break off
Into lacy skeletons adorning the floor
As my stripped branches reach, aspiring
To reach the sky's heights and explore.
In my youth, I was stately and tall
Singing a lullaby beseeching longevity
Now as my leaves fall and stories grow long
I see age should be limited by brevity.
Yet I must trudge on across this time
As this garden slowly fills with deaths
And each season brings fresh collapses
With each of the wind's new breaths.
Once when I was young, tall and bright
All colors hid in my leaves, confided in me
Now I am dulled, strong but stymied
But the rot festers below like a Stygian sea.
Few denizens see that the garden is dying
Like a war that hides itself underground
A sarabande of murky dancing death
That creeps beneath the surface all around.
Soon, this will be gone, and cockroach and rat
Will claim this as a land for their own
A mutual choke into nothingness' void
Time for dark usurpers of nature's throne.
Every year these flowers come and go
Tittering in the sun and discussing every thought
In this rot, each year I hoped they'd keep
They'd keep, yet I knew they'd not.
My body on this earth is bent and folded
Like a fluttering flag in a passing breeze
I tell my tale and hope for the future
A land where the most revered are the trees.
I'm sure questions are dancing on your tongues
Pirouetting to unbind themselves from thought
But now it is my time to leave my wisdom
Do make sure I am never forgot.
Goodbye, sweet garden, I wind to the sun
The kernel of eternal life is abating
And the heart of the wood that beats within
Is now unsteady, failing, pulsating.
I shall now knead gnarly dirt, my leaves will fall
To bless the land in their swansong's dance
While I will bend further, collapsing
In death, my final broken stance.
"
The oak falls silent, the garden breathes
Like a moment of respect to his life
And all the deep wisdom that he had collected
Amongst eras of warfare and strife.
The sky curdles and sours up above
As if it too, is mourning today
The thickets all wail in an elegy
And the flowers all seem to bend away.
The raptured mountains echo their sorrow
As they mark the oak's name into every brook
The word of his demise spreads across nature
Spread across the world by the chinook.
A tired, flat, periwinkle silence
Descends over the garden, now bleak
A stalwart of the olden days has fallen
And the grasp of its roots rendered weak.
You wonder what brought the rot to this land
The one that wipes out all these plants
What the oak tree feared would ruin this patch
And to all instant death grants.
You pick up the shovel and begin to dig
Half a foot deep into the angry grass
And hoping you find the source of the death
So all this strife would someday pass.
After an hour of toiling in the sun
Your shovel hits metal, and you pull it out
A corroded lead safe is leaching into the ground
Spreading its poisonous metal about.
The old oak, now silent in death
Creaks and rustles in the air
And you think you see the faintest bend
In its squat form bent up for prayer.
The hollow seems to widen its mouth
And two small cracks appear on its face
It seems to resemble a smiling mouth
As a blessing for reviving this place.
The wishes of the oak, a garden saved
You pick an acorn off the ground
Making a hole in the earth you put it in
And pour fresh water all around.
Soon the oak's child will bear its wisdom
You think as you walk away
And the tales that it tells in the garden
Will now be expanded day by day.
A blessing of a garden, sunken low in the grass
Amongst the bushes that are the aphids' homes
Where the peonies and the zinnias jostle for room
To sink themselves into the chocolaty loam.
Walnut trees grow lazily, skimming the horizon
Shelled fruits littering the grass-choked ground
A small wren flitters about, skirting the shrubs
And picks up small kindling that lies scattered around.
A derelict fountain rises up from the earth
Moss's matted curls are now shattering its form
A limestone angel once bearing a pitcher
Now weathered and broken as if by a storm.
The tamarisks whisper secrets twisted
By winter winds into forgotten tongues
Unpruned dry brambles pierce their way
Into Mother Nature's dessicated lungs.
A rusted fence wends, curls, its way around
Languid and steady along the cobbled way
Sealing in this tumultous green tangle
That within its bounds grows yet astray.
Though the ochre primroses push up their scents
The entire garden smells musty, forgotten
The musky earthly scent and floral waves
Underlies something proliferating, rotten.
Through all these plants and crabby grass
An old oak tree lies twisted, stunted
Stooped over by age, trunk knotty and wrinkled
The sharp grooves of its bark now blunted.
It seems to know the ancient wisdom
Witnessing the coming and going of men
Across aeons long departed, and discarded
As time's wheel spun again and again.
But when the crickets stop their chirping
And garrulous wind is blustering far away
If you listen closely to the creaking branches
You may hear what he has to say-
"
I am the old oak of the garden green
And I have seen much on verdant plains
I have witnessed the rise of ancient suns
And the breach of the torrential rains.
Now I am knock-kneed and knobbly
And my trunk is beaten down by time
Yet I've bathed in the mist of thousand winters
And bore witness to many a crime.
A hollow juts deep inside my trunk
It has a dark pool where weasels hide
Many have sheltered in my boughs and nooks
And explored the breadth of my inside.
During the fall, my leaves break off
Into lacy skeletons adorning the floor
As my stripped branches reach, aspiring
To reach the sky's heights and explore.
In my youth, I was stately and tall
Singing a lullaby beseeching longevity
Now as my leaves fall and stories grow long
I see age should be limited by brevity.
Yet I must trudge on across this time
As this garden slowly fills with deaths
And each season brings fresh collapses
With each of the wind's new breaths.
Once when I was young, tall and bright
All colors hid in my leaves, confided in me
Now I am dulled, strong but stymied
But the rot festers below like a Stygian sea.
Few denizens see that the garden is dying
Like a war that hides itself underground
A sarabande of murky dancing death
That creeps beneath the surface all around.
Soon, this will be gone, and cockroach and rat
Will claim this as a land for their own
A mutual choke into nothingness' void
Time for dark usurpers of nature's throne.
Every year these flowers come and go
Tittering in the sun and discussing every thought
In this rot, each year I hoped they'd keep
They'd keep, yet I knew they'd not.
My body on this earth is bent and folded
Like a fluttering flag in a passing breeze
I tell my tale and hope for the future
A land where the most revered are the trees.
I'm sure questions are dancing on your tongues
Pirouetting to unbind themselves from thought
But now it is my time to leave my wisdom
Do make sure I am never forgot.
Goodbye, sweet garden, I wind to the sun
The kernel of eternal life is abating
And the heart of the wood that beats within
Is now unsteady, failing, pulsating.
I shall now knead gnarly dirt, my leaves will fall
To bless the land in their swansong's dance
While I will bend further, collapsing
In death, my final broken stance.
"
The oak falls silent, the garden breathes
Like a moment of respect to his life
And all the deep wisdom that he had collected
Amongst eras of warfare and strife.
The sky curdles and sours up above
As if it too, is mourning today
The thickets all wail in an elegy
And the flowers all seem to bend away.
The raptured mountains echo their sorrow
As they mark the oak's name into every brook
The word of his demise spreads across nature
Spread across the world by the chinook.
A tired, flat, periwinkle silence
Descends over the garden, now bleak
A stalwart of the olden days has fallen
And the grasp of its roots rendered weak.
You wonder what brought the rot to this land
The one that wipes out all these plants
What the oak tree feared would ruin this patch
And to all instant death grants.
You pick up the shovel and begin to dig
Half a foot deep into the angry grass
And hoping you find the source of the death
So all this strife would someday pass.
After an hour of toiling in the sun
Your shovel hits metal, and you pull it out
A corroded lead safe is leaching into the ground
Spreading its poisonous metal about.
The old oak, now silent in death
Creaks and rustles in the air
And you think you see the faintest bend
In its squat form bent up for prayer.
The hollow seems to widen its mouth
And two small cracks appear on its face
It seems to resemble a smiling mouth
As a blessing for reviving this place.
The wishes of the oak, a garden saved
You pick an acorn off the ground
Making a hole in the earth you put it in
And pour fresh water all around.
Soon the oak's child will bear its wisdom
You think as you walk away
And the tales that it tells in the garden
Will now be expanded day by day.
Odes To A Dead Dragonfly
I wrote a poem about a dead dragonfly I saw on the floor in the school science lab. I took it on myself to write it in the form of an acrostic poem; the first letter of each stanza is the same, and it spells out the name of the poem.
Odes to a Dead Dragonfly
Once you traipsed the sullen lands
On wings that were gossamer thin
Over silent sweeping shiny sands
Onto castles where dynasties begin
Dandelion shadows, your only kin
Dancing in the winds that blow past
Despair was yet to crawl in your skin
Discovering the glories of the vast.
Easing your flight on wings, glassed
Eke out life as lord of the skies, but
Exploring is finally stopped at last
Ebbing away as your lifeline is cut.
Saturated with liquid grace
Sadly sounds your resting place.
The ground, it wished to reach you
Tendrils exempted though they tried
To touch you in your world of blue
Taking winds and insects in stride.
On borders and lines, laws defied
Open lands were calling your name
Of all the beauties the worlds provide
Owning the crown is your fame.
All your life and what it became
Affixed on the floor so cold
And while the race to survive is all the the same
Ashen grey, your cards all fold.
Dreaming now of lands unknown
Darkened body embracing stone.
Eclipsed wings, a network of hopes
Edging the ears of chocolate soil
Eating their way up mountain slopes
Echoes from lost mortal coil.
A shiny body, glinting like foil
As the fierce sun shines above all
Always buzzing, like an annoyed gargoyle
Angry and ferocious though small.
Dreaming of rainshadow and squall
Devouring insects galore
Damaged, now below you fall
Dead and so breakable on the floor.
Dappled sunshine beats down blue
Drained of life is that which flew.
Rolled stone wishes and wet chalk
Refracting stories of your flight
Rooves silently & admirably talk
Rambling about your form so bright
Again the universe displays its spite
And extinguishes a gentle life
Amazing were you when you would alight
Amongst all of nature's strife.
Grim reality slashes its knife
Grey sky curdles and sours above
Grave loss, like a beloved wife
Gently putting to rest your love.
Over the pinions of sunset you've flown
Onto twilight's sepulcher alone.
Narrating of minerals and mysteries
Noisy memories are now interred
New births and ancient histories
Nested deep, now hazy, blurred
Fallen beauty, beyond any word
Fabricator of a life as a vagabond
Flying endless in day like a bird
Fades to dark, leaving silent your pond
Lullabies of night have come and dawned
Larking shadows claim your soul
Learning to leave a world so fond
Leaves scars crisscrossing your whole.
Yes, 'neath the light of pellucid moon
Your universe has imploded far too soon.
Odes to a Dead Dragonfly
Once you traipsed the sullen lands
On wings that were gossamer thin
Over silent sweeping shiny sands
Onto castles where dynasties begin
Dandelion shadows, your only kin
Dancing in the winds that blow past
Despair was yet to crawl in your skin
Discovering the glories of the vast.
Easing your flight on wings, glassed
Eke out life as lord of the skies, but
Exploring is finally stopped at last
Ebbing away as your lifeline is cut.
Saturated with liquid grace
Sadly sounds your resting place.
The ground, it wished to reach you
Tendrils exempted though they tried
To touch you in your world of blue
Taking winds and insects in stride.
On borders and lines, laws defied
Open lands were calling your name
Of all the beauties the worlds provide
Owning the crown is your fame.
All your life and what it became
Affixed on the floor so cold
And while the race to survive is all the the same
Ashen grey, your cards all fold.
Dreaming now of lands unknown
Darkened body embracing stone.
Eclipsed wings, a network of hopes
Edging the ears of chocolate soil
Eating their way up mountain slopes
Echoes from lost mortal coil.
A shiny body, glinting like foil
As the fierce sun shines above all
Always buzzing, like an annoyed gargoyle
Angry and ferocious though small.
Dreaming of rainshadow and squall
Devouring insects galore
Damaged, now below you fall
Dead and so breakable on the floor.
Dappled sunshine beats down blue
Drained of life is that which flew.
Rolled stone wishes and wet chalk
Refracting stories of your flight
Rooves silently & admirably talk
Rambling about your form so bright
Again the universe displays its spite
And extinguishes a gentle life
Amazing were you when you would alight
Amongst all of nature's strife.
Grim reality slashes its knife
Grey sky curdles and sours above
Grave loss, like a beloved wife
Gently putting to rest your love.
Over the pinions of sunset you've flown
Onto twilight's sepulcher alone.
Narrating of minerals and mysteries
Noisy memories are now interred
New births and ancient histories
Nested deep, now hazy, blurred
Fallen beauty, beyond any word
Fabricator of a life as a vagabond
Flying endless in day like a bird
Fades to dark, leaving silent your pond
Lullabies of night have come and dawned
Larking shadows claim your soul
Learning to leave a world so fond
Leaves scars crisscrossing your whole.
Yes, 'neath the light of pellucid moon
Your universe has imploded far too soon.
Tales from A Forgotten World: Part 1
Tales from a Forgotten World OR The Tale of Arbin OR A Farmer's Ordeal
Part 1: The Stage Is Set
Can you hear the cocks crowing, far away?
Oh, how the soil pulls up its earthy tresses
At the beckon of a thresher that disturbs the land
And brings to light the earthworms' addresses.
I toil by day, and earn my money from crop,
An honest path of well-earned wealth
I care for my fields, and my family
Both my plants' and my children's health.
My name is Arbin, I live on my farm
I sleep in a humble hut in a quiet grove
All in a tiny hamlet, tucked away in the hills
A verdant, serene treasure trove.
Upon my farm, I grow beets and squash
The vegetables are my means of coin
And the deity is salvation and my hope
Every evening in his prayer I join.
I am a man of the land, the ground my home
Just a humble, honest farmer, singing his lay
As the sun sets crimson, languid and slow
Over yet another seedling-sowing day.
Well, the rains fall calm upon the land
A watery drizzle that soothes the thirst
Rushing down into the cracks in the mud
Racing to reach the plant's roots first.
Soon my harvest is all set to reap
And see! The swelled fruits grow low
Suckling the sun's nurturing gaze
Until even their flesh inside is aglow.
The wind caresses waters in the sleepy creek
And the town awakens from winter's grasp
Announces the coming of market day
In a very long-awaited gasp.
My sons aid me in my loading
Stacking sweet fruit into laden carts
Filled to the brim with delicious fruit
Like the joy this season brings to hearts.
Like the cobbled road has its telltale bumps
Where a caravan leaps and dips its hood
Each season is different, some good, some bad
Nature is unpredictable, as is nature should.
The Lord has made today his blessed,
People jostle about, already here
To sample and purchase the plethora
Of farmer's bounty sold every year.
I set up my shop in a quiet corner
Yet people keep stopping to buy
Tis' a good day, the sun shines bright
The clouds meander, the birds all fly.
By the time the glorious light all fades
And dusk's shroud glides upon the land
My pile of crop is now nothing more
Than some vegetables I carry by hand.
A hearty stew awaits at home, and
Soon I know it is time to close my eyes
Tomorrow brings a new cycle turn
That nature summons with the sunrise.
I tuck my kids in, and likewise for me
Swathed in the wool of our local sheep
I utter my nightly protection prayer
For the Lord our peace to keep.
Yet, slumber struggles to reach my heart
Tossing and turning all around
I try sleeping without any blankets
And then try sleeping on the ground.
My wife and kids are peaceful and serene
Why must I suffer in this sleepless net?
If I pull down the blankets, I am cold
Yet if I pull them up, I sweat.
If slumber will not knock, I'll bring it in
With a brisk walk in the night air
Against tents of the market flowing in the breeze
Amongst the remains of the village fair.
Oh! The night wind is brisk and cold today
It's clammy and it carries a chill
I walk amongst the fallow fields
Until my heart has had its fill.
I return, and swaddle, in blankets again
A warm familiar room I know so well
Protected from intruders and fearful things
A nice, cozy place where I dwell.
Yet once again, despite my attempts
Sleep remains elusive and far
Like the tiny moth that beats and struggles
To touch a distant burning star.
I once again rise, giving up
On any dreams I'll have tonight
And instead occupy myself with jobs
Until the dawn breaks with golden light.
I go out in to my field, pick up my tools
And think whether to cultivate it now
With toil and hand and plough by night
Instead of harness and cow
But without a prayer to the lord above
How can I start planting once more?
Before the planting process begins again
Mustn't I first worship at heaven's door?
But I realize that the shrines are shut
At this ghastly witching hour of night
For the priest and devotees are sleeping
While I am stuck in this slumberless blight.
I think a moment and then I see
That the Lord must have made this so
Else, why wouldn't I be able to sleep
Unless with his blessing I must plough?
I pick up my axe and the tiller in hand
And walk out into the field
And slowly, digging into porous earth
My farmer's tools I wield.
I must have dug some five or six rows
When my muscles, they start to strain
Finally I feel the need to rest
Before I plant the grain.
All my mud, it's come from a hole
Eight, nay, likely nine feet deep
I must refill it with fresh soil tomorrow
But now I finally yearn for sleep.
I cover the hole with a lattice of leaves
And close it up, all neatly sealed
I take a last, sideward look askance
And depart from the quiet field.
Sleep finally comes to a tired man
In slow waves of slumber deep
Meandering rest, like a river wide,
And peaceful like counting sheep.
Part 1: The Stage Is Set
Can you hear the cocks crowing, far away?
Oh, how the soil pulls up its earthy tresses
At the beckon of a thresher that disturbs the land
And brings to light the earthworms' addresses.
I toil by day, and earn my money from crop,
An honest path of well-earned wealth
I care for my fields, and my family
Both my plants' and my children's health.
My name is Arbin, I live on my farm
I sleep in a humble hut in a quiet grove
All in a tiny hamlet, tucked away in the hills
A verdant, serene treasure trove.
Upon my farm, I grow beets and squash
The vegetables are my means of coin
And the deity is salvation and my hope
Every evening in his prayer I join.
I am a man of the land, the ground my home
Just a humble, honest farmer, singing his lay
As the sun sets crimson, languid and slow
Over yet another seedling-sowing day.
Well, the rains fall calm upon the land
A watery drizzle that soothes the thirst
Rushing down into the cracks in the mud
Racing to reach the plant's roots first.
Soon my harvest is all set to reap
And see! The swelled fruits grow low
Suckling the sun's nurturing gaze
Until even their flesh inside is aglow.
The wind caresses waters in the sleepy creek
And the town awakens from winter's grasp
Announces the coming of market day
In a very long-awaited gasp.
My sons aid me in my loading
Stacking sweet fruit into laden carts
Filled to the brim with delicious fruit
Like the joy this season brings to hearts.
Like the cobbled road has its telltale bumps
Where a caravan leaps and dips its hood
Each season is different, some good, some bad
Nature is unpredictable, as is nature should.
The Lord has made today his blessed,
People jostle about, already here
To sample and purchase the plethora
Of farmer's bounty sold every year.
I set up my shop in a quiet corner
Yet people keep stopping to buy
Tis' a good day, the sun shines bright
The clouds meander, the birds all fly.
By the time the glorious light all fades
And dusk's shroud glides upon the land
My pile of crop is now nothing more
Than some vegetables I carry by hand.
A hearty stew awaits at home, and
Soon I know it is time to close my eyes
Tomorrow brings a new cycle turn
That nature summons with the sunrise.
I tuck my kids in, and likewise for me
Swathed in the wool of our local sheep
I utter my nightly protection prayer
For the Lord our peace to keep.
Yet, slumber struggles to reach my heart
Tossing and turning all around
I try sleeping without any blankets
And then try sleeping on the ground.
My wife and kids are peaceful and serene
Why must I suffer in this sleepless net?
If I pull down the blankets, I am cold
Yet if I pull them up, I sweat.
If slumber will not knock, I'll bring it in
With a brisk walk in the night air
Against tents of the market flowing in the breeze
Amongst the remains of the village fair.
Oh! The night wind is brisk and cold today
It's clammy and it carries a chill
I walk amongst the fallow fields
Until my heart has had its fill.
I return, and swaddle, in blankets again
A warm familiar room I know so well
Protected from intruders and fearful things
A nice, cozy place where I dwell.
Yet once again, despite my attempts
Sleep remains elusive and far
Like the tiny moth that beats and struggles
To touch a distant burning star.
I once again rise, giving up
On any dreams I'll have tonight
And instead occupy myself with jobs
Until the dawn breaks with golden light.
I go out in to my field, pick up my tools
And think whether to cultivate it now
With toil and hand and plough by night
Instead of harness and cow
But without a prayer to the lord above
How can I start planting once more?
Before the planting process begins again
Mustn't I first worship at heaven's door?
But I realize that the shrines are shut
At this ghastly witching hour of night
For the priest and devotees are sleeping
While I am stuck in this slumberless blight.
I think a moment and then I see
That the Lord must have made this so
Else, why wouldn't I be able to sleep
Unless with his blessing I must plough?
I pick up my axe and the tiller in hand
And walk out into the field
And slowly, digging into porous earth
My farmer's tools I wield.
I must have dug some five or six rows
When my muscles, they start to strain
Finally I feel the need to rest
Before I plant the grain.
All my mud, it's come from a hole
Eight, nay, likely nine feet deep
I must refill it with fresh soil tomorrow
But now I finally yearn for sleep.
I cover the hole with a lattice of leaves
And close it up, all neatly sealed
I take a last, sideward look askance
And depart from the quiet field.
Sleep finally comes to a tired man
In slow waves of slumber deep
Meandering rest, like a river wide,
And peaceful like counting sheep.
The Airport
Full of people, a multitude,
Nice and kind, boorish, rude.
A song of tears and vicissitude,
Of lonely businessmen's solitude.
The thrusting of engines across the sky
A hug, a kiss, a sad goodbye
Bustling groups like random swirls
Paupers, millionaires, little girls.
The metal beast, home of planes,
Swallows up the city lanes.
Within its halls are concealed,
A myriad of memories, carefully sealed.
Lost luggage, security and coffee shops,
Sleepers in halls patrolled by cops,
Clutched suitcases, firmly clamped
In hands of people, tiredness stamped.
Late night travelers, families,
People worrying about their keys.
Vacations, business flights, always more
As white wings in the sky, they roar.
Carnage
CARNAGE
It’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon,
The sun is blazing bright
The grass stalks are waving in the wind
I think “ What a lovely sight!”
The crickets chirp quite loudly
Under the warming sun
It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon
But now the peace is done.
We hear some footsteps, very loud
Crossing the garden ground
Opening the garden shed
And then looking around.
We hear the whir of machine blades,
The rolling of some wheels
Our time is quickly running out
Run, before our life it steals!
Our life is on the line now
Our chances looking dim
Heads or tails? We wonder,
Life or death? It’s on the rim!
The blades are coming closer,
Chances looking low
As I run, I’m caught inside,
Into the blades I fin’lly go.
Goodbye, sweet world, I think
SQUISH!
PS These are the last words of a Mr. Grasshopper just before he got sucked into a lawnmower.
Different: An Apocalyptic Magnum Opus
I hear the bustle of people on their way to work
I hear the pitter-patter of squirrels as they lurk.
I hear the rustle of the wind, I hear a bird go 'cheep'
I hear a motorbike rumble, I hear beetle creep.
I go up to my mother and gesture with my hands
I say 'It's time for school', I hope she understands
I guess she did, as she sets some oatmeal on the floor,
"Enjoy your meal," she smiles and says, " Tell me if you want more".
My mother cannot hear me, no matter what I say
She's deaf, absolutely, we speak in the gestures way.
My dad walks down the stairs in his trademark groggy stride
"Good morning!" he gestures and stands by my mother's side.
I change into my school clothes, and "Thumbs up! I'm done!"
I wave goodbye and grab my bag as to the bus I run
I remember that day so well, I had plugged in my phone
Wore my costly headphones, sitting all alone.
Engaged in a rock song, other sounds cancelled out,
Prob'ly why I didn't hear it when it came about.
The army was trying out a defense that was new
A sound to deafen their enemies, but they bit more than they could chew
They tested it prematurely, an uncontrolled blast of sound
Burst out of the army base, around the world it wound.
It deafened people around the globe, nobody could now hear
It travelled fast, you couldn't hide, people lived in fear.
It crossed our town quite early, while that song still played,
The entire town went deaf then, a soundless future made.
Those noise-cancelling earphones saved my ears that day
My life though, had turned for the worse, my world seemed to go grey.
I could hear, but nobody else, I had learned to speak
In gestures, but I was known as an oddball freak.
While everyone else spoke with hands, I alone could hear
Every word and every sound be it happiness or fear
Anyway, I digress, I climbed aboard the bus
I heard whispered voices and an insult, "You're a wuss!"
I slumped into the back seat, surrounded by jeers
Spitballs, and paper planes, and sneaky meany leers.
How can you blend in, when you were meant to stand out
When nobody can hear you, even when you shout?
When your life becomes as bleak and barren as winter skies
When only you can hear nature and the buzzing of the flies
Ostracized by society, turned into a freak
Swore at, beaten up all the time, am I really that weak?
The teachers all speak in gestures, I'm an outcaste in the clan
I really try to blend in, Trust me, I do all I can
Am I really that different? I'm honestly just like you
Don't kick me out and make my life full of a greyish hue
The teacher writes, I look at her, the students look at me
As a weirdo in the school, Deaf I wish to be
No matter what I try to bear, a part of me just cries
To be deaf like the rest of them, free from disparaging eyes.
I live through school in this way, every single day
Please let them accept me, every day I pray
In his Almighty's magnificent frieze
I fervently beg, please give me peace!
While my role in the cosmos is little but a speck
This insignificant life is reminiscent of heck.
I was actually normal, I prob'ly still am
Then why to you treat me like washed-up flotsam?
At home, I sit alone, feeling depressed
I always feel like crying but my tears are suppressed
Avoided like the plague, writhing in languish
In the darkness of my soul, I see nothing but anguish
My life of implication, insinuation and ill will
Seeped in sorrow and woe, till I cannot lie still
Blanketed in swathes of hatred and animosity
"But wait!" I think, "Must I wallow in self-pity?"
What if I accepted my role in the world
As an anomaly, my plan unfurled
I would fight against critics, play dice with cruel fate
make a name for myself, put an end to this hate
Different I was, and different I'd stay
I'd turn a new leaf, dawn of a new day.
I went to school the next day, with a spring in my shoes
I would never give up, no matter what I lose
They may be deaf, while I can hear
But it's time to accept that, and stop living in fear
Their leers and glances didn't penetrate
My conscience, and I hoped they'd abate.
Slowly but steadily, talking by hand
I'd made some friends, a dedicated band.
All are different, in all that they do
But the bonds between us are stronger than glue
And then I realized a lesson I'd found
That there are differences all around.
You need to rise, your barriers to break
To resolve your issues and a future you'll make
Don't look at differences, always be kind
Then you might discover a similar mind.
Trust me, as a guy who's unique
A positive mind is what you seek
If you just be normal and just be you
Your life will be filled with a vibrant hue.
Just hang in there, and if you end up like me,
Your life will always have ecstasy.
I hear the pitter-patter of squirrels as they lurk.
I hear the rustle of the wind, I hear a bird go 'cheep'
I hear a motorbike rumble, I hear beetle creep.
I go up to my mother and gesture with my hands
I say 'It's time for school', I hope she understands
I guess she did, as she sets some oatmeal on the floor,
"Enjoy your meal," she smiles and says, " Tell me if you want more".
My mother cannot hear me, no matter what I say
She's deaf, absolutely, we speak in the gestures way.
My dad walks down the stairs in his trademark groggy stride
"Good morning!" he gestures and stands by my mother's side.
I change into my school clothes, and "Thumbs up! I'm done!"
I wave goodbye and grab my bag as to the bus I run
I remember that day so well, I had plugged in my phone
Wore my costly headphones, sitting all alone.
Engaged in a rock song, other sounds cancelled out,
Prob'ly why I didn't hear it when it came about.
The army was trying out a defense that was new
A sound to deafen their enemies, but they bit more than they could chew
They tested it prematurely, an uncontrolled blast of sound
Burst out of the army base, around the world it wound.
It deafened people around the globe, nobody could now hear
It travelled fast, you couldn't hide, people lived in fear.
It crossed our town quite early, while that song still played,
The entire town went deaf then, a soundless future made.
Those noise-cancelling earphones saved my ears that day
My life though, had turned for the worse, my world seemed to go grey.
I could hear, but nobody else, I had learned to speak
In gestures, but I was known as an oddball freak.
While everyone else spoke with hands, I alone could hear
Every word and every sound be it happiness or fear
Anyway, I digress, I climbed aboard the bus
I heard whispered voices and an insult, "You're a wuss!"
I slumped into the back seat, surrounded by jeers
Spitballs, and paper planes, and sneaky meany leers.
How can you blend in, when you were meant to stand out
When nobody can hear you, even when you shout?
When your life becomes as bleak and barren as winter skies
When only you can hear nature and the buzzing of the flies
Ostracized by society, turned into a freak
Swore at, beaten up all the time, am I really that weak?
The teachers all speak in gestures, I'm an outcaste in the clan
I really try to blend in, Trust me, I do all I can
Am I really that different? I'm honestly just like you
Don't kick me out and make my life full of a greyish hue
The teacher writes, I look at her, the students look at me
As a weirdo in the school, Deaf I wish to be
No matter what I try to bear, a part of me just cries
To be deaf like the rest of them, free from disparaging eyes.
I live through school in this way, every single day
Please let them accept me, every day I pray
In his Almighty's magnificent frieze
I fervently beg, please give me peace!
While my role in the cosmos is little but a speck
This insignificant life is reminiscent of heck.
I was actually normal, I prob'ly still am
Then why to you treat me like washed-up flotsam?
At home, I sit alone, feeling depressed
I always feel like crying but my tears are suppressed
Avoided like the plague, writhing in languish
In the darkness of my soul, I see nothing but anguish
My life of implication, insinuation and ill will
Seeped in sorrow and woe, till I cannot lie still
Blanketed in swathes of hatred and animosity
"But wait!" I think, "Must I wallow in self-pity?"
What if I accepted my role in the world
As an anomaly, my plan unfurled
I would fight against critics, play dice with cruel fate
make a name for myself, put an end to this hate
Different I was, and different I'd stay
I'd turn a new leaf, dawn of a new day.
I went to school the next day, with a spring in my shoes
I would never give up, no matter what I lose
They may be deaf, while I can hear
But it's time to accept that, and stop living in fear
Their leers and glances didn't penetrate
My conscience, and I hoped they'd abate.
Slowly but steadily, talking by hand
I'd made some friends, a dedicated band.
All are different, in all that they do
But the bonds between us are stronger than glue
And then I realized a lesson I'd found
That there are differences all around.
You need to rise, your barriers to break
To resolve your issues and a future you'll make
Don't look at differences, always be kind
Then you might discover a similar mind.
Trust me, as a guy who's unique
A positive mind is what you seek
If you just be normal and just be you
Your life will be filled with a vibrant hue.
Just hang in there, and if you end up like me,
Your life will always have ecstasy.
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