Patriotic Flair.

Speak not. You have all done enough to corrupt my insides. Speak not. No voices, no opinions. Let me have a conversation with myself now. Lay still – Your time is up. You have done enough to corrupt my insides. I have had enough of all your stories of Patriotic flair. I have had enough of all your stories of indignation. I cease to exist in your nation. I cease to exist in your life, bound within boundaries some other man has created. I will exist in the fields, where my heart lies. Not in your nation, not in your heinous notion of patriotic flair. I will exist and thrive in this world (and not in your nation), while you are burnt by the fire of your own flair.

My Raider

For all the glorious times
That I have spent and thrived
She is my raider –
Thru all my bouts
Of Skepticism & doubts
She endures,
Rendering me in reality
A life lived only in fantasy.

I await her coming
After a year (or two)
Like a sketch upon a canvas
Waiting to be completed
With colors and life.

Drifting through time

From emotion to emotion

The sea spells out the time

And it’s time to move .

 

A bottle of rum

And a tub full of ice cream

My time has stalled

And I am stuck

Within these four walls..

 

The light glows dim

And my room is calm

No one speaks here

But alcohol..

I am fine here

Staring at the wall

My life is stuck

And I am about to fall…

 

 

 

It was in the dark It all happened
A voice that sang a song
On a hill
It was dreamy and the air was still
Her voice filled the air around us
And sudden lights flashed
With every peak and low of her voice
She sang unknowing of the world outside
Flowing in a world of her own
Not much could be said once she stopped singing
All that was around stood still
As if the forces couldn’t thrive against her will
She walked away and not a word was spoken
I loomed then with a sea of words awoken
Of which she would never know.

To a place

I’d like to hit the wall with my head

Or hit the bed

A flowing song playing with my mind

Flying, drying, trying

Waiting to find

The sun in the haze.

 

A sudden desire

To run

And run

Through fields of wheat

Through the blazing heat

Toward something

Of which very little I know

I don’t know where it resides,

Besides,

I am fine here in the unknown.

 

A burning fire,

That burns unflinching

On the inside

It sings songs

About a place or a feeling

It could be my destination

Or just a calling.

My eyes see less

And My mind even lesser

When the sun is not ablaze

And hidden in the haze

Let me run

And run

Unto the sun

It’s gotta be fun.

 

With you near

I am an hour away and six months behind
I can’t hold my body and my heart together
My feet invariably tap and dance
Singing tunes from times before
Reminding me of every single thing
The summer before and the rains
The winter’s cold and it’s pains
It can’t but be true
I’ve been away for too long
And must return
The sorrow of the past will burn
Away into the air

As the plane gets closer
All of the past fades
A full-er feeling in the edge of my heart
Waiting to leap
And dance
In joy
Singing songs of love
To the fullest of my voice.
The truth is clear
I’m just happy to be here
With you near.

The only place I wish to be

People chatter and birds chirp
There’s a lot of sound and a lot of noise
A lot of words and a lot of dreaming
But none of them true and none with a meaning.
The train stood still
The air stood still
All against my will
All the dancing and singing
People merry and drinking
It is all immaterial to me
There is only one place, I wish to be.
Far away, in a distant land
The sun sets over golden sand
It is all merry here up in my head
With thoughts of that land far away
As I lay upon my bed.
Memories play alive
Like a picture that has come to life
Time has passed
And I can’t remember where I began
Through the good, the bad and the empty
I forget all that has happened
And none of It stays
For,
It is all immaterial to me,
And
There is only one place, I want to be –
Back there in the midst of the sea
And the sand
With a little tear
And a someone to hold my hand.

It is time.

It is time,
To rise
To despise
The real enemy,

The money lending,
Big spending,
Corporations,
That train us,
Detain us,
That bring disdain to our land
From their high towers in Europe and America
It is time,
To rise,
To despise
The real murderers of Our Land.

‘Add this to your land’
Say they,
‘And see how these crops, they produce
A grand
Big potato
The biggest tomato
A pumpkin bigger than the globe’
That Kills every microbe
Every organism that fed and gave back to nature
All that it must
To them it is all
Just
Dust.
The trees and the black-birds
To let them be
As they are, is absurd
To stamp our authority
On what we do not own
Is the word,
It is what they heard.

They mislead
The ones who are misread,
The farmer in his farm stead
Working through the hours of the day
Who knows no other way
Who has his family and nation fed

They’re all lured
Into this genocide.
Murates of potash,
Ammonium nitrate
Single Superphosphate,
They add, they kill
They play
With the fate
Of a thousand
And a thousand more
Not anymore
Not anymore,
For
It is time
To rise,
To despise
The Real Enemy,
The real murderers of our Land
Those corporations,
Those money-lending
Big spending
Corporations
That care less for the land
And even lesser for it’s people
It is time to rise,
To despise
The real enemy.

The creature inside

I hear a creature breathing
From the inside of the kitchen
Growling and moaning
I wonder if it can speak
And tell as I do, of the fear
I possess of getting anywhere near.

I’ve been sitting here
For an hour and everything’s clear
Everything’s quiet
Not a word
Not a moan
Not a call on my phone.

It’s been longer even,
Silence has paved way to emptiness now
And it has begun to gnaw me from the inside
The continual sounds of that creature
Yearning, moaning and growling
Haunt my every step
Speak to me in my sleep
Flash on my mind when I weep.

I pretend that the creature is there
Still on the insides
Gnawing, growling and moaning
Constantly,
Like a friend of sorts
To speak to,
When lonely
When you are the only.

I know little now of the creature
It’s whereabouts or presence
But every now and then
When the quiet of the evening seeps in,
The sound of the growling, moaning creature creeps in.