Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Social Commentary, Society, Travel, tagged abhor, activism, advance, affairs, after, again, aged, anger, beat, beneath, bias, bitter, black, bleed, blind, blood, body, book, bravery, burn, caravan, cell, chamber, chant, circle, clasp, close, cloud, collective, commentary, cowardice, cup, day, days, debate, defence, dictatorship, disappeared, discrimination, doctrine, don, down, dust, dying, each, ears, effigy, exile, extinguish, eyes, face, family, fate, fear, fearless, feet, fight, fill, fist, flame, force, friend, gate, glory, hate, heart, heavy, homeless, humiliation, hundred, hunte, hurl, imperialism, indigent, innocence, international, isolation, jeans, join, justice, land, landless, line, live, logic, march, mass, matter, moth, mountains, mouth, One, order, part, peasant, pen, phalanx, pheonix, placard, plainness, poem, poetry, police, Politics, prejudice, prevail, print, prison, push, ready, red, renegade, resurrection, revolution, rip, rise, sandals, seek, shame, shirt, shout, silence, someone, spout, stand, starving, state, stomp, stop, strain, street, struggle, subject, taste, tatter, teargas, text, thrown, torture, tribe, truth, ululation, vignette, vigor, voice, waterbomb, weak, weapon, wheel, world, young on February 1, 2012|
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We were among those hundred innocent feet
wheeling through the clouds of dusts. So close
that someone shouted to stop the angry phalanx
from advancing the gates. We were young bloods then.
Brave as a collective force ululating vignettes
about homeless families, starving peasants,
weak indigents, landless tribes,
friends of disappeared and the exiled.
We stand like a hundred innocent moths
circling fearlessly around the flame. Ready
to extinguish our fates for one day of glory.
The cups ready to be filled with the bitter
after-taste of seeking the truth on the matter
of state. Of politics. Of international affairs.
We stomp them shamelessly beneath our sandals.
We ripped them off from our tattered jeans.
We print them on the plainness of black shirts.
That justice of the land is not blind and should prevail.
We debated doctrines. We fight about logic.
We push our pens. We clasp our fists.
We join the caravan. We live our days
marching vigorous in the streets chanting
the aged texts on mass struggles by the red book.
Burning effigies. Donning the placards.
We abhor dictatorship. We hated imperialism.
Like waterbombs spouting heavily against our faces.
Like the many teargases hurled against our defences.
We bled when the police beat us out of the line.
Isolated when we are thrown into prison cells.
Humiliated when subjected into torture chambers.
Discriminated when hunted down in the mountains.
We rise and made each part of our bodies as weapons.
Our mouths without strained voices.
Our eyes without biases.
Our ears without prejudice.
Our fists without cowardice.
Our hearts without fear.
This is our revolution against the world order.
And the phoenix will rise again and again
among the many moths that have died.
Resurrected and will never be silenced.
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Our Own Little Places
Posted in Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Nature, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships, Religion, Social Commentary, Society, tagged after, aged, air, all, ask, battle, befriend, begin, believing, bigness, boredom, calm, cares, carry, come, companion, company, content, country, courage, darkness, days, decision, discover, dreams, dwelling, each, easy, enduring, episodes, evening, everyday, existence, familiar, farewell, farm, folks, forgotten, fowls, friends, gathering, get, good, grind, hope, horizon, hug, irrelevance, joy, lack, learn, life, little, long time, lost, many, matter, mediocrity, milestones, monotony, moon, morning, night time, nothing, orbs, own, peace, perhaps, pillows, places, poem, poetry, prayer, retirement, ripples, rise, rough, school, sea, season, shelter, silence, simple, sisters, sky, small, somebody, someone, someone leaving, something, soul, spaces, spend, stars light, stay, stop, suns, talks, task, things, thinking, thoughts, times, up, usual, wage, warmth old, weather, well, well wishes, whisper, whole, wind, within, witness, wrong, young on July 12, 2013| 2 Comments »
We have to spend our whole life getting up
each morning and see the many suns
rising courageous from the horizon.
A simple life- who knows when to retire
at night time and hug long-time companions
called pillows and dreaming dreams.
There are episodes here, which send ripples
into our seemingly monotonous existence
everyday. And we have to wage battles
with boredom and her sisters- called mediocrity
and irrelevance. But not all were lost.
Somebody needs to learn how to befriend them.
Some may think that something was lacking,
but perhaps in the company of silence we find
orbs of thoughts in the usual grind of days
like the fowls of the air having simple cares.
Season after season. Day after day. Aged
but content to the simple things that matter.
The small country talks over the weather
and life in the farm begins with asking folks
how the young are doing these days at school.
The familiar warmth of seeing old friends at a gathering.
The joy of witnessing someone else’s milestones.
The farewells and well wishes when someone
is leaving our own little places to discover
the bigness of things. There goes a little prayer
and a hope that nothing is wrong when one decides
to stay and carry on doing their tasks each day.
We might spend our whole life thinking it’s good after all,
though it has never been easy and there are rough times.
But it will never stop us believing that peace within
is the only dwelling place, our enduring shelter
when the day comes that we will never be able
to witness the sun and it has forgotten to rise.
In the darkness, we hope our soul in its own little spaces
can see the moon and stars light up the evening sky.
While the wind whispers- all is well, we’ll be calm as the sea.
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