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Posts Tagged ‘pull’

We lived in a world where

statistics is synonymous

with being number one.

Measuring up in a yardstick,

struggling our lifetimes

competing for spaces

reserved for subservient

imitators of culture and class.

 

Like crabs crowding and grabbing

and pulling each other down

wanting to rule the world. People

above people. Force against force.

 

For those who dared raising a fist.

For those who questioned authority.

For those who defy their masters

raised from the land they call-

the first world. Their birthright.

 

Is it about what you’ve been taught?

Is it about how you’ve been raised?

Have I been misplaced by fate?

My skin’s darker, hands dirtied,

swollen by hard labor. A gap

so wide I couldn’t leap forward

a privilege’s bloody to break.

 

The one with the skin much paler

has the prime seat in the house.

The one whose ideals are taller than the tree

had their palms oiled by the scent of money.

And their minions bow down in worship.

 

Supremacy over self-worth. Fanaticism

over humanity. Millions, blindsided

servants to little gods awaiting benediction.

I can’t do but keep silent and curse

the soil in which you were born,

giving you a seething stare in envy.

 

Shall I borrow then, your language

slipped out of your tongue? For I will

put sounds to the syllables of freedom

to speak and tell you, “our time has come”.

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Someone had it written clear-

that one should not just keep pacing

on this earth, like a  somnambulist do.

Instead, he should lay beside the grass.

Ears close to the ground hearing

faint sounds and whispers coming

from the earth’s bosom.

 

Hearing how the rhythmic breath

of stillborn seeds of coniferous trees

waiting to break out of its shell,

awakening to the hymn of the spring.

 

Hearing how aquifers running deep

into crevices, into rivers, carving

canyons, gorges, fjords to the open seas.

Sailing away, riding with the wind.

 

Hearing the tides keep pushing,

and pulling in. Or the breaking waves

into the cliffs. Scouring the shoreline

of an island down to the ocean floor.

 

Hearing how the mountains gliding

its terrestrial skin past each other.

Like a potter reshaping and remolding

the land into a new continent.

 

Hearing how it grumbles beneath,

venting out ash plumes and lava streams.

A force roused from deep slumber

churning mood swings in its womb.

 

Someone had it written clear-

that one should not just keep pacing

on this earth, like a  somnambulist do.

 

We should hear the gathering storms

of the impending avalanche. Iceberg splitting.

The glacier receding.  Oil gushes, spilling

over the gulf. Helpless cacophony of wildlife

endangered. Landslides and the levees

breached by hurricane. Rainforest on fire.

Desert sands advancing. Clods of soil

drying up. Locusts swarming over fields.

Ground crumbling into sinkholes.

 

We should hear how restless it gets

day after day, when  the clock is ticking out.

Faint sounds becoming loud voices

sending distress call to reckon with,

summoning mankind to listen. The earth

finally eclipsing to its perilous journey.

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I have tried everything I was taught

to do. Trying to fit in the world

by becoming someone who,

I am not. An everyman.

What’s going on? How tragic

is this shallow happiness

becoming emptiness, seeking

where is the enlightenment?

 

Punch me hard to bleed.

Hit me more. Be harsh to me

like a nihilist. Obliterate

my every apprehensions.

 

Pull me away from this reality,

sheltered in my comfort zone.

Stripped me off with this fear of pain.

I need another revolution.

 

Break down this prison walls

closing me in. Out of this

sanity’s edge,  I will escape

my disillusions and never return.

 

Wake me up from my deep slumber.

Punch me hard to bleed. Real hard.
If survival means believing 

that I have to die, to gain.  

I will not pursue my defense now.

I will surrender to your every blow.

I will lie here half-dead in bloodbath,

the glory of my sweet liberation.

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Today, he waits

at the station, searching through

the window panes. And soon

he’ll run along, chasing

shadows to his past.

 

The train became a home

to a lover. A wanderer of days-

exiled to traveling distances.

An evacuee amidst

the maze of constant strangers.

 

A thought, he is keeping-

of a woman he lost.

That last glimpse returning,

as she boarded a train-

happily blew him a kiss.

 

But she never came back.

He hopes while staring into the horizon

daydreaming. As life pulling apart

the images of her face.

He never rest.                        

 

Recording the miles-

a solitary journey, he keeps

a knapsack filled

with tear-drenched tickets

by his side.

 

Tomorrow, is a beginning

of another lonely day,

running along with trains.

And pay for a small token-

sojourning memories.

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