Poem 26: OBLIVION

A knot so tight,
Stuck in my throat,
Words of delight?
I laugh out of spite.

What do you want?
A familiar face now foreign,
Lost for meaning, judged often
By eyes that see sound, softened.

Mind so clouded,
Thoughts rushing, crowded
A parade of vivid dreams,
Strangely cheerful it seems.

Even maybe strangely sad,
Most considered it tacenda,
Broken sky leaking into meridian,
It fills us, the infinity of oblivion.

Poem 22: TRANCEPARENCY

I howled so loud,
As they buried me,
In the cold wet ground.
Time fitted that into a palm
Distance brought distance,
In unison, so calm
Harmony, transparency,
I feel your pulse,
With such clarity,
Many masks we all hide behind,
Don’t forget eye for an eye
Will make the world go blind.
Deception, betrayal, dishonesty
The lack of transparency,
Hold me,
Beyond a skin-deep sense of self,
There’s a depth of rasasvada unusually elysian.
Make a decision,
Watch an irenic mangata
The moon reflecting on the sea
Peace simply asks for transparency.

Poem 21: CONTROL

He would join his daily coma,
On his faded old sofa,
Just like clockwork, tik tok, tik tok,
The alcohol, streaming his veins,
Tied down with ropes and chains,
I am sorry, he cries as he explains,
All the broken promises obsessively he maintains.

I stood still in my corner,
Terrified,
I stood still as days became weeks,
Weeks became months and years,
Time passed uncontrollably,
I watched and learned his behaviour,
All his techniques.
I saw empty bottles broken, so lovely,
Face pale, and drained, so ugly,
I never saw him come home early.
Until one day, he never came at all.

I’m in no need for a climax,
After a sensation of alcohol,
The trick is to relax,
I promise it’s my last drunk call.
The world is black and white,
Sometimes a little in between,
Mostly smells like piss in the alleyways,
It’s far from a pretty scene.

My hands are wrinkled,
Eyes barely see,
Hair is now grey,
But am I really free?
Time has caught up,
I am old and grown up,
Turned into my alcoholic father,
Like father like daughter,
No point in regret,
Because I can’t just pack,
And pick a time to go back.
Funky smell, jukebox, neon lights,
Vodka soda, with a bit of lime,
One thing we can’t control is time.

Poem 20: MIRROR

Do not disturb the silence,
It’s in his cage, sleeping, no violence,
He is my nightmare, my horror,
What a dark aura.
I am weak, getting weaker,
Draining my spirit, diving deeper,
I was never much of a public speaker,
More the suffer in silence,
It’s fine honestly,
Because no one is aware of my absence.
Life is spiting a cunning smile
On my face like a slap, I walk for a mile,
With a broken nose, black eye,
Bleeding lips, full of kisses saying goodbye.
But he is awakening,
Digging, and chewing the cage, I’m listening.
Stop him. Please, stop him.
But my odds are slim,
I don’t know what I will face,
I am petrified, is there simply no way to erase,
The past, my memories or this place?
I cry, without shoulders to cry on,
I scream; however, no soul hears,
I am all alone,
Sitting in a dark room,
At least I’ve got a throne,
Finally, the cage unleashes my biggest fear,
Before me it stands so dear,
It’s dark, chill hits down my spine,
It’s presence far from divine.
I see myself, it’s a mirror,
A pale face, and dry lips, bitter,
I feel a cold weight in my hand.
We both have a weapon, a pistol,
BAM! Unheard words, so wistful.

Poem 19: UTOPIA

We are the brain cells,
Of a nine-year-old boy,
His imagination with deep wells and spells.
There is no reality, in this reality,
It’s full of faceless eyes.
Synthetic lips, cursed with sanity,
Insanity, sanity people so concerned for morality,
Yet their hypocrisy, hurts my chest
A dead utopia, dust and a quest.
Full of lawless streets but I am free,
Lawless streets with nobody,
Lawless streets and a smiling cat,
Singing from a tree, just like LSD.
This is the dead utopia,
All you people fear,
Because our existence only exists,
As long as this boy is asleep and unaware.

Poem 18: HEARTBREAK

A green uniform complementing,
your pale soft skin,
A war you’re assenting,
The return date unknown,
I release my last pleasurable moan,
Before I am once again alone.

But my love, do you not know?
That I am soft for this world, sensitive.
My heart shatters with a touch,
More delicate than thin glass.

I lay on dry grass,
Wait for the endless time to pass,
Heavenly kiss is felt on my cheek,
Somehow a sense of loss,
Everything seems so bleak.

Tears soaked by a folded flag,
Handed by a proud naïve young man,
“HE WAS A HERO”, they all brag.
The colours; red, white and blue,
On my wall, what a view…

The saddest feeling is loss,
The loss of my path,
My past,
My love,
My future.
The loss of myself,
I wade into the woods,
So much greenery,
But all I see is machinery,
Bombs and tanks,
Greedy men drinking wine on their thrones.

You were the beauty in all my chaos,
Hopeless dreams I embrace,
A hole in my chest, wide open
It’s heavy, my heart is broken.

The poppy camouflaged in innocent blood.

Many of our fellow Englishmen are still unaware of the meaning of the poppy. They were taught that it’s a symbol representing English values, thus if one know himself as a proud Englishmen, an honourable man of the flag, he then must accept the poppy, regardless of his knowledge of it.

The poppy is a symbol of our soldiers who sacrificed their lives for the safeguarding of our freedom, our future. But I must insist as to when I say they sacrificed their lives, as though I believe some us do not really grasp the importance of this, because I don’t necessarily mean they lost their lives on the battle field with a fatal  bullet wound that touched upon their skin, I mean they sacrificed their whole existence, their chance of ever being with their families or maybe even ever having a family, watching their children grow up, go to school and graduate. Families were broken and destroyed with the death of these soldiers. Soldiers ages as young as twenty and probably even less, boys who haven’t event reached their manhood yet, brutally robbed from the chance to just simply live an ideal life with the only purpose ahead of them to be happy.

The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war. – Douglas MacArthur

The poppy. The symbol of freedom, appreciation, love and respect, a symbol of remembrance of the heroes, the people behind reason of our freedom, our heroes. To remember the stains of their blood on the land we walk on. This symbol, however, is still the basic representation of glorifying war, destruction and death. And war is something I personally will never support. Naive young boys, convinced and brainwashed by their government to carry on a tradition of killing and slaughtering their peers, being praised for it, because it is recognised to be an honour to do so. Gladly and happily giving up their lives because, war is not questioned, merely just accepted and is the norm of even today’s society. Maybe war only portrays what is already there, buried in the deepest darkest corners of our hearts and souls, the parts we do not reveal to the word, not even to our own selves; hatred, hunger for power. Or we just fear the idea of being ostracised, alienated and pushed to the margins of society, lose that sense of belonging, that security. We, as a nation and also as individuals, should appreciate every single day as it comes, every single day we live as a free person, and in a war free zone, and must consider ourselves one of the lucky ones. Even though I despise of the word “luck” as every accomplishment is treated to be luck nowadays, yet it is the singular approach for the description of merely being born into a high standard or G seven country. Whereas, if any person in their right mind was given a chance to choose the life and world they were to be brought into, do I even have to spell out what their decision would be?

But, and there is definitely is big “but” in the situation, these are crucial times we exist in. Terrorism is a leading cause to result in a war any time. Yet, terrorism has no race, religion or any type of justification, despite what the media might choose to try to feed us, as terrorism can strike anybody, anywhere. It solely has no mercy. George Orwell said it so well, the brutal truth; War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength. However, unfortunately avoiding it does not make it go away, as much as we would want it to, this is the reality of our day and it has been for a very long time. Children are playing not in playgrounds or schools but on battlefields, brave but still frightened to the core, numbed from the pain of death surrounding and haunting them, bodies dropping on every corner, where rain is, in the literal sense, blood, dodging bombs by just a fraction and fearing the queue of death, when will that bomb hit them, when will death pray upon them. The same children who carry the scars, burden and wounds inflicted by war, yet are unarmed and unaware. It is a time where these children, even though are the casualties caused by war, will never be victors or remembered as heroes, not like soldiers, or politicians who bring the foundation of war into the lives of the innocent. What is the symbol to symbolise their tragedy, to remember their trauma? As we must remember and remind ourselves, how we as the human race failed them. Now I know what you’re thinking, but, doing nothing and staying silence, in the face of this evil, is an unforgivable sin of its own.

George Orwell said it so well, the brutal truth; War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.

We need to question things, at least start somewhere. With war, the poor get pushed to the edge of poverty while ironically somehow the rich get richer. Do we know how much our government spends on war and weapons? What percentage of terrorism leads to casualties in the West compared to the East? What is the leading cause of death? How much does the government spend to prevent this? How is the media portraying these? Unless, we as individuals get a break from our busy and constantly occupied lives and do our own research the information that we simply must and should know, is not openly given to us. Quite the contrary, the hierarchy do everything in their power to distract us from asking the right questions. And therefore, popular culture was invented. Karl Marx said popular culture gave people passive satisfaction so they had no interest in overthrowing the capitalist system. In other words, it is a weapon of distraction and, it may not be fatal to one today, however, it holds a dangerous future for our children and their children and on.

“Love, don’t hate. Make peace, not war.” Simple solution, right? However, will it ever work, debatable. Because with war comes power and a longing for power is simply part of nature. Even the animal kingdom, consist of control over territory, food, sex, thus power. Survival of the strongest, if you’d like to name it. The me and I evident in everyone as children grow with the growth of the person – except for that if there is a desire for change. And we must enhance that desire, allowing it for flourish in us, and only then will that “I” overturn into a we and us. Only then will hate and hunger for power will become love and peace.