truth reborn

truth reborn …

in bruised, raw patches of harsh, agonising pain,

blindly twisting against tightening restraints of grief,

reaching deep inside,

the empty heart’s vault,

there emerges the shimmering of a hope ever so brief.

An abiding hope that blazes with radiant intensity,

a hope that unshackles chains that releases,

a scorched mind and soul,

the restless torment inside,

bursting forth,

surfacing, reaching for bliss to finally grasp.

A hope that aches in the deepest caverns of the heart,

that desolation may soon be dispelled,

with soothing feelings of a dawn.

A hope that the bleak emptiness,

swirling around the vacuum,

may be filled with hope anew,

clinging to

fresh feelings of truth reborn.

The Art of Word-Jacking

The Art of Word-Jacking …

‘Freedom’.

‘Justice’.

‘Democracy’.

Three words,

lost to us.

Plundered by the few,

stripped naked and ravaged,

pummeled into submission.

Three words,

taken from us.

Usurped so casually,

stolen and cleaved,

left meaningless.

Three words,

strangled and violated.

No more.

Not today.

Today, we reclaim the ideals,

the billion voices,

all straining to be heard.

Today, we take back our truth,

our collective aspiration,

still yearning for the harvest.

Today, we sing the hymns of freedom,

as we gather at the gates of justice,

while mourning the paralysis of democracy.

‘Freedom’.

‘Justice’.

‘Democracy’.

Three words,

that we shall wrest back.

Three words,

that have nurtured our dreams.

‘Freedom’.

‘Justice’.

‘Democracy’.

Three words,

for which we all have bled.

Three words,

word-jacked and abused,

that are ours once more.

‘Freedom’.

‘Justice’.

‘Democracy’.

Three words,

that shall remain tightly wrapped,

around our collective core.