Posted in Books, Current Affairs, Film, Literature, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Relationships, Religion, Social Commentary, Society, tagged authority, awaiting, benediction, birthright, blindside, blood, born, borrow, bow, break, call, class, come, competition, crab, crowd, culture, curse, dare, dark, defy, dirty, down, envy, fanaticism, fate, first, fist, force, forward, freedom, gap, give, God, grab, hands, hard, house, humanity, ideals, imitator, labor, land, language, leap, life, lifetime, little, master, measure, millions, minion, misplacement, money, number, oil, One, other, pale, palm, people, poem, poetry, prime, privilege, pull, put, question, raise, religion, reservation, rule, scent, seat, seethe, self-worth, servants, silence, skin, social commentary, soil, sound, space, speak, specimen, stare, statistics, struggle, subservient, supremacy, swollen, syllable, synonym, tall, teaching, tell, time, tongue, tree, want, wide, world, worship, yardstick on March 21, 2012|
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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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Tipping Point
Posted in Current Affairs, Literature, Memoirs, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Relationships, Social Commentary, Society, tagged abyss, apex, applause, bar, bask, battle, believe, born, brand, break, change, chase, confidence, confrontation, cost, cut, cut-off, danger, deep, demons, direction, discernment, disillusion, dive, drag, edge, embrace, everyday, excuse, expectation, fatal, feed, feet, free, French, grip, head, heart, hero, high, holiness, how, hurts, inner, insanity, isolation, kiss, knife, lead, left, lie, mad, man, might, mirror, narcissism, neck, need, no, nobody, now, One, people, perfect, perfection, plain, poem, poetry, point, precipice, push, raise, razor, reason, rope, ruin, saint, say, scream, self-proclaim, silence, simple, somebody, stop, struggle, suppose, sword, take, tell, temporary, thing, think, tip, toward, turn, unending, unpretentious, verge, voltage, wage, wield, wire, wish, wits, world, worth, you on March 15, 2013| Leave a Comment »
Verges means being pushed to the edge.
Like you are being confronted at a knife point
and you just can’t turn around but to dive
into that abyss while you don’t know how deep it was.
You always say that you can’t let them ruin you
but it’s a plain lie you wish that all is perfect.
If only you can cut the wire and kiss the voltage.
If only you can let the rope grip around the neck.
If only you can break the mirror and embrace danger.
Would it change a thing? Ah but no, you just go on
struggling with your inner demons and chase them
wielding that sword to cut-off somebody else’s head.
For you, everyday is a waging battle of wits and reason.
Perfection is costly. Holiness is fatal. Which one are you?
Nobody is born a saint and you won’t believe it too?
Do you suppose to expect the world will applaud a hero?
You raised the bar too high and it left you there isolated
basking in your self-proclaimed brand of narcissism.
Tell me now then, how it hurts to held onto the razor’s edge.
Or screaming mad in silence when you temporarily got insane.
Does it worth to feed people’s expectations and drag your feet
into that unending precipice while you can’t discern the apex?
Excuse my French, but I think you need to stop this disillusion.
Take a turn towards the direction where your heart leads you.
You might be a simple man- confident and unpretentious. Free.
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