| truth_lies: who cares |
they say the truth needs only be whispered,
they say so much,
about truth and about lies,
they know so much about both,
its blatant,
plainly clear,
they’ve peddled lies,
and tarnished truths,
haven’t we all,
in-between the translucent haze,
of so many drinks,
dumbed down before the worlds’ eyes’ blinks,
yes, and i am sorry,
but who are you again,
I didn’t get your name,
actually, i really don’t care,
and yes,
that really is,
like life,
a shame.
days skim along,
the rapids, white waters,
seconds moments years lives,
fleeting, strings in the common play, strung along,
plucked, teased,
echoes of longpast melodies,
of lips ablaze, tremulous, desirous, insatiable,
seeking yours,
savouring the moments,
since then.
after all this …
when tears have dried,
adhered, embossed,
etching each streak –
pain, joy, sorrow, grief, relief, release, fear, hope, hopeless,
every crevasse dug, every trench buried, in the minefield of scattered emotions, blurred tremors, whispers, murmuring,
beckoning, reaching out,
cajoling, consoling, offering sustenance, solace,
far far after all of this,
this burdensome shroud, these masks, these tongues,
greying,
creasing skin, chiselling out decades, months, moments,
pale,
shackled in crutches,
and still, somehow,
the murmur rises,
a cool crescendo swelling,
urging us to stand,
not on bended knee,
but tall –
for we may slip,
yet, still,
we shall rise,
we shall rise,
taller, with each fall.
they do not see me at all …
as i walk through these desecrated avenues
of soul-deadening frenzy
i see them all rushing past me
and no matter how hard i try to holler and to call
they do not see me at all
it seems at times, that invisible am i
for when i reach out, and shriek out, and when on my knees i crawl
they rush past me
for they do not see me at all
i have tried to raise their ire, i have taunted and goaded them, till exhausted and fatigued, to the cold damp ground i fall
still they rush past me
for they do not see me at all
i stand mutely then and wave my hands all around while scribbling verses in my unintelligible scrawl
and yet they rush past me
for they do not see me at all
they rush past me, knocking me over without ever looking back
and then trampling over my fallen form, they look past my limp crumpled shadow, as they whine on in their monotonous drawl
for they do not see me at all
and when at last i see them look my way, and as a flicker of recognition crosses their faces
i wish to crawl back into my nothingness
where they cannot see me at all
with this new morn
may your dreams soar on
into the boundless openness of promise
away from the strife of the now
far from the pain of today
away from words sentences faded alphabets dead parchment
to shed it all
tossing the detritus away
and to rise
to rise up
to grab on
onto dreams
onto hopes
free
free finally to unshackle
chains cast off
oaths mouthed
vows broken
free
free finally from frothy lies
and
.
alive
truly alive
at last
under never ending
pristine
cloudless skies
“…All we need is a voluntary, free-spirited, open-ended program of procreative racial deconstruction. Everybody just gotta keep fuckin’ everybody ’til they’re all the same color…” – Warren Beatty in the motion picture “Bulworth”
Scribbled Verse 