Archive for November 22, 2018


humanity lost?





Humanity ?


us men,

almost always,

men,


myopic, impotent men,


our manliness oozing, seeping,

dripping,

soaking,


in swathes of red,

scarlet blood on infant skin,


hardened,

caked,

dried on cold, dead flesh.





Who am i,

a man,


myopic, impotent,


my swagger puffed on conceit,


my country right or wrong,

my god not yours,

my culture your caste,

tribe, sect, ideology … … …




Who am i ?


a man ?

knitted into,

shared humanity ?




Perhaps ’tis time,

to let this rotten, festering,

glossy, botoxed, tucked, trimmed, diseased skin,


moult,


laying stark this sham,

this theatre,


these lies, the maggots burrowing deep,


into man,


chiselling, smashing,

beheading, hanging,

shooting, bombing, drone-ing, killing, raping, torturing, killing, killing, killing,


excising man,

ripping man out of humanity.




Yes,

i am man




Banksy

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scarred by gentle caresses,

ripped apart by tender kisses,


fractured within,

a ceaseless masqurade without,


when,

           does the ache mend,

lose its sting,

                       soften the blows,


while destiny,

                        fate,

    tomorrows not yet dawned,


shedding tears for pain unmourned,

                     battered blue,

                     and black,


always an arms reach away,

from my weathered backpack,


to venture, to plunge,


into the waters of chance,

where hopes dreams joys,

all dance,


a lifetime away,

yet embossed on the mindscape,


a fleeting moment,

vanishing,

                  like an eternal nostalgic glance …


                     



what is this yearning,


this furnace, this cauldron,


raging, burning.




this need,

this ache,


these dreams,


entwined, woven in clandestine half smiles,


stealing glances, across forgotten years,


endless miles …



Dew

Artwork from Google



Dew …


Dew, like tears,

envelopes the morning rose,


petals glistening,

remnants of night,

echoing across the hue infused plain.



Fleeting dew,

like murmuring rain,

caressing each petal,


while far beyond the flowers of morn,


memories of the dew,


remain …



Artwork from Google

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