Where Have You Been? Where Have I been?

pexels-photo-54377Life happens-
and just like any other stage;
we’ll find cold and warm seats,
applauses and boos,
tearing eyes,
emotional lumps and all that.

Life is a major stage-
dotted with transitions,
Goodbyes and welcoming roses.
we move out
we move on
we move up
we leave home and venture into the unknown.

Where have you been?
Oooh where have I been?
Here…
I never left-maybe my voice, and my shadow.
But between then and now:
I stood on the edge a thousand times,
with the life-giving air beckoning,
calls of the unknown whispering my name.
I caught cold,
I tripped,
I hesistated…
But someday I found the balls-
more of a scratch on them pair,
And I lept.
The edge does things to your soul-
I grew a pair-
not of balls this time BUT wings.
I let the winds carry me,
drifting me to wherever they blew.
Trusting in the tag of gravity and staying afloat;
-death and freedom-

Where have I been?
Just here
I never left…maybe my voice, and echoes of my shadow.
But between then and now; I looked for home-
in the eyes of strangers,
in the scents of foreign food,
in the streets without names,
in an away land-where the sun sets late.
And yes I found home
Right here, where I left.

We all leave home-
in search of whatever that calms the tempest in our souls.
Other times we leave home-
buoyed with the spirit of adventure,
venturing beyond our caves,
in search of ourselves, maybe a thrill.
Sometimes we loose ourselves
other times we get scared by the man on the mirror
and, we retrace our steps back,
More like finding our footprints on sand.
We comb every thought, every memory, anything familiar
and there before us are bits and bits of what used to be.
Little dots of what our lives have become,
and we join them dots seeking that line we crossed.

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Rainy Days

mikael

Those Rainy Days Photo Courtesy of Mikael http://www.moxiewg.com/

The sky is drab
A shade of ashes:
dotted with speckles of black-
a weary shade of dark,
inter-twined with dying threads of white

I gaze at the lazy raindrops,
pelting the asphalt:
A symphony of passing time,
A hazy rhythm of life-
ebbing out with every tick of the clock

I smell dust;
an aftermath of heavens’ copulation,
a soothing breeze on the skin-
marked with goose bumps and clutter of teeth

I think of home
The warmth of love
The torrents of memories
The priceless smile of mama,
her white teeth glittering
against the flames of the hearth,
and papa humming in the background,
a sense of comfort

But here I am,
Chasing a feel beyond my skin,
Courting thoughts of life,
Of brighter days to come,
Of sunny days and laughter,
and rainy days at home

Posted in Love and Beauty, poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Crusade

this one

A walk on beaten paths, wading through
bushes of uncombed thoughts,
tongue on the cheek,
rolling eyes from the camera flashes
and flashes of stale memories
screaming shades of neon,
glamour of decomposing trash
of the moral fabric;
like they said-lost souls.

But are we really lost?

Talk of toiling fallow lands
Stretches and stretches of meadows
Praying for stoned minds,
Oblivious of the spoils waiting
and pestilences flying in nightly dreams,
wetness of luring tongues
and fake embraces

At the onset,
Everything was so clear
That we were waging the grand campaign,
Of Good versus Evil;
No middle grounds,
No what ifs,
Just clear lines and definite goalposts,

But these days, hehehe
Black and white has dissolved into
shades of gray…
The fairy tale of everyone feeling
they are heroes and heroines in their own stories,
is nothing but a reflection in a dark mirror
There are no villains, no heroes, or heroines,
Just people, human souls,
Trying to do the best they can,
Trying to marry the reflection
In the mirror and their true self

How about we wage a grand crusade,
Hit the streets with horns, and whips,
Not to preach truth-Not that it doesn’t matter anymore
But to preach common sense, and good manners,
That we are a race called humans and the earth is our only home

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Theatre

Guess the world is just a theatre...with some unaware of what's going on, or their roles.

Guess the world is just like a theatre…with some unaware of what’s going on, or their roles.

Let’s dance with the ghosts of yesterday,
Precipitation of our charred memories
Sired with the milk of the firstborns
And sealed with kisses of angels
Where bellies full of untold misery
Churn deep threads of love and loyalty

Is there anything there to fear anymore?
If our shadows can dance in the dark
And our children’s milk teeth have turned brown
From the rust of their mothers’ breasts

Take a sip of the vile
Stretch on the hard bench of life
Inhale the fumes of our choices,
The world is a stage of the insane
The unafraid and the mavericks
Crowded in clandestine contours
What is there in your heart?
That should make you see the world with a spectrum?
Hatred, fear, color, shriveled mindset, what?
Or is it the sour-bitter after-taste of barley and smoothies
Churned from grapes plucked in the graveyards

Is the world a garden of memories?
Or a theatre of sad humor?
Or is it a footstool of the gods;
Where earthlings are to feast on the remains
and spit of they that dwell in the high places-
For theirs is the kingdom, the power and the glory?

Posted in Musings, poetry, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Open Seas

You will never know how strong you are if you don't venture out there, beyond the horizon.

You will never know how strong you are if you don’t venture out there, beyond the horizon.

We find love in the oddest of places.
At times it is offered in a crucible
or balanced on a precipice-daring for the fall.
Other times love shouts a hello in our chaos;
drowning our gray stories painted on the canvas of shame
and hanged in the hall of dirt for all to behold.
rarely, love will show up clad in glamour-
Floating like tiny white feathers,
with open arms,
calm scents and tender words
that steal our hearts, and steel them to a halt.

But of friendships:
Some show up disguised as angels of death,
brandishing swords and tongues of fire and brimstone.
They slash through the marrow of our cares and scars-
scaring the bits of self chains,
totems of “I can’t” and “…not good enough”
Then goes on to set our souls ablaze
baptizing us in the of zeal, of freedom, and power to be,
then, tattoos magic smiles on our foreheads-
for all to see the blessedness of lives.

Hallowed be friendship:
Friendship that scales heights love knows not:
scaling heights not as a duty but a push to be-
to sync in the vibe of our oneness

Friendship that is unhinged, a free bird

Hail friendship:
Friendship that thrives in our cosmos connectedness,
Friendships without masks: naked and stripped to the bone-
without price tags of class but value of the soul;
without signposts of “impossible” or “No Thruway”
BUT an open sea of possibilities:
of dreams coming true,
of living the dream,
of surviving the high tides,
of rocking in the waves,
of enjoying the slack tide,
of mastering the vibration of the wind,
of nature and constellations,
of staying afloat,
of being safe in this boat we call our skin-
a kin the din and ruckus
of phobias, religion, conspiracies and greed.

Blessed are friendships that are open seas,
held by nothing but hope of sunny days
beautiful shores and the beauty of now:
For they thrive on the rocks of life,
shine through the silver sheets of doom,
laugh in the rain
love in the storm
survive the ordeals of the shifting goalposts
and appreciates that time is a slut-
in that it screws everyone at some point in life.

Posted in Love and Beauty, Men and Women, poetry | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Why should I?

ballot-paper-Custom

So many whys than how(s)

They said this paper is my ticket,
My ticket from poverty,
A hallway to victory;
An expressway to Canaan-
the land of manna, flowing with milk and honey

They say this vote:
This vote is my arsenal, shield and sword,
The magic key to the wonderland on my backyard
The wonderland with no power surges,
Or dry taps adorned with cobwebs
But a land of smooth tarmacs,
Functional street surveillance cameras,
lazy sunsets,
lush streets,
A dazzling green everywhere-
Paradise reinvention my brother

They also say this vote is power,
Power to wade away evils spirits-
Demons shrouding our houses-
I mean:
the power to keep away the monkeys
that cause havoc on the plantains,
The power to change,
The power to clean the streets,
to dump the garbage,
and paint the streets fresh
With happy colors,
and of course, smoke the street urchins to oblivion

They said we should go in numbers and vote,
Not just vote…
Vote for our person; our very own
A lamb without blemish-
So that we can maintain the lineage,
the history, the trail and dust
They said it is the right thing to do- even God approves it

But here we are,
10 steps forward,
30 steps backward,
Our motherland land is parched,
Wells of good-will have run dry,
Thoughts of better days have turned to mirage
we run to clean the streets with our blood,
pelt stones and stop live bullets
Souls donning thread smiles lumber around mumbling,
Engulfed in eerie calmness-
Some sort of a slack tide
Heavy cumulus cloud hanging loose,
Not clouds really, but tear gas…
A pre-workout for some serious pounding

Life is being supped from every mortal,
Right, center and left,
The heart monitor beeps slowly,
Like something evil is about to happen,
It is inevitable we are running out of life
And the land watchers standby doing nothing
Daring the vultures to descend,
Urging us to die quick-
Plenty of alibis fort the next talk show

so you tell me to vote?
Fuck that,
Fuck the vote,
Fuck the idea,
Why should I vote?
For what cause,
You said change? Screw that!
I am tired of the hoodwinks,
Sideshows and drama
This right here is nothing but a fizzle,
A blurred image,
A broken mirror
That needs no fixing anymore

Posted in Musings, Rants | Leave a comment

GOD: The Artist

the-artist-drawing-palette-color-paint-easel-brush-creativity-art-good-idea-close-up-blur-bokeh-wallpaper

God is good.
He thrives in details
From the complexion of the eyes
To the last strand of hair,
To the number of stars in the galaxy
to the wee bits of sand.
his spirit is wind,
blows to wherever it wishes: unpredictable, unhinged
He paints the skies with a medley of colors;
shades of orange with a touch of red,
or a sad grey, with flashes of white,
or strokes of turquoise reflected in the deep sea
or a deeper blue in the sky piercing the soul
complete with an infinite horizon

He has breathed in us a need;
to imitate,
to create,
and make all things in his image

but He is the master Wright
and His story is etched in us,
thriving in twists and turns,
humor and gore
victory washed in tears of loss
He has surpassed our imagination
Our thoughts are juvenile to His
Lost in a deep suspense of the ultimate
Playing with the odds of the end
Vacillating between doom and glory,
Apocalypse the ascension to the saints
Yet He has mystified the end and clothed it in death

So in death-
we speculate,
we create imaginations
escape in our own little stories;
stories with happy endings
scorning the immoral thought-
thoughts of evil triumphing over good

we christen them-
those who have had a smoky glimpse of eternity;
seen the ultimate of men:
no matter how shaky the glimpse was,
or the clarity of the visions.
we are afraid to believe that death is the end

So we believe God is real
with a stubbornness of a mule with reels
we believe in His divine love:-
though His love is different.
Adorned in pain and blood,
With a hidden price tag-
a sacrifice of self.
It is love of tears,
of submission and obedience,
trusting in His Divine guidance
receiving chastening with love…
bowing in reverence and halleluiah
But,
Is love endurance?
Is it an inconvenience?
Is it even appropriate?
I mean, can love be wrong?

But we endure the pain of becoming,
Guess like purification of gold by fire

At times, I think of God as an Artist:
the earth-His canvas, paper, or a clean slate
The humans-
Bits of his creation: work of His hands
Playing the roles,
Living lives
Believing in whatever assurance there is
But:
He balances our breathe like a color wheel
With the precision of an artist,
holding his pencils and eraser-
props of life and death.

At times I see Him;
Guiding,
Saving,
Taking,
Healing,
Restoring and destroying,
Balancing His equations, the work of his hands,
At times with the stroke of his breathe;
He erases-
the bad bits,
the odd bits,
the good bits,
A reminder of the ultimate-
Although this is real, death is real
there are no buts or oops,
when He calls the shots
At times I hear him laugh out loud-humored
Other times He turns angry; though for a while
Other times he his quiet:
when we get at the fork of the road
Most of the time He nods, knowing soon
He is putting a full stop, a final sketch
An end to this madness…

Maybe then,
He will fold this canvas in anger;
with sparks of fire in His voice,
as he tosses his creation in the bin,
or in the fire of damnation…

Or maybe,
He will write another script,
Or draw another sequel,
Has he hangs this masterpiece
In the hall of fame.

Posted in poetry, Randoms | Leave a comment

New Flower

Meskel Flower-Only found in Ethiopia

Meskel Flower-Only found in Ethiopia

Real beauty is ugly
Like a buried seed about to sprout
Life in these streets;
is like holding a fart
in front of your crash
I wanted to write a memoir
Of this new flower;
Flowing with promise
and mystery
hushed miseries
whispered failures
and shouted victories
but who am I to stand
on the seat of judgment
pointing a finger to the holy land?

Like a new flower
Her beauty is unmatched,
a shimmer in the morning
drenched in sweetness,
but a deep deception beyond the face
like life ending at death
and beginning at the very death
but this flower knows not
what it is to die
but how long will it hold under the sun
and lusty hands
lovers wanting to impress
or the fidgety fingers wanting to just nib,
smell and trash

New flowers are grenades-
life ammunition’s
like virgins,
or shy girls,
or teenagers,
unsure of the world under their feet
and their image on the mirror,
It’s worse when this new flower
Buoys in the wind and sun,
With pride…puffed up with ego
Like its beauty will never fade,
Or like disaster will never strike,
Or like it’s the only in the world,
Ooh ye pretty flower of small faith,
Where art thou manners?
Or genuine respect,
and genuine love for thy neighbor,
Don’t you know it is written?
By thy sword shall thee be smitten?

But I am rooting for this new flower,
it bears a story that shouldn’t be buried
in the debris,
or sat on and drenched in sweat and farts,

I am rooting for her to live,
To survive the loot,
The war mongers,
The snipers,
The lusty and fidgety fingers,

I am rooting for her to live,
To come to fruition,
To experience a rebirth,

For when you look at the rock
she has been hewn from,
You can only root for her to thrive…

Posted in Memoirs, poetry | Leave a comment

LET’S TALK…SHALL WE?

jabberjaw

Let’s talk;
about love and hate, and the in-between
Let’s talk about the madness of our times
Let us talk about heaven and hell
Talk about God, and gods,
Demons and saitan,
The fall of angels,
The fall of man,
Redemption of the sinner, and
the struggle of the saints;
About religion and spirituality
Let us talk about lies,
For truth is dear
Let us talk about the whiffs in the air

Let’s talk about the earth and its earthlings,
Let us talk about me, about us,
Let us talk about the hushed whispers,
About monies, and winks in the corridors,
Let us talk about getting fat,
and losing weight,
let us talk about teeing
and fancy suits, and cologne,
let us talk about eating,
belching,
suppressed farts,
and sweaty handshakes

Let’s talk
About our paths,
Our choices
And chaos of crises
About the fork on the road,
And rattled emotions of indecisiveness
Let’s talk about the absence of light
the ensued struggle for dominance
let us talk about them
let us talk about the garbage on the streets,
the street urchins, the street kids,
lost opportunities,
a mirror of our errors
let us talk about the immigrants,
and places that need more bombing
and more missiles,
let us talk about aid,
and millions we will pocket for the closed deals

let’s talk about Euro-bonds,
and other bonds for chrissake
let us talk about votes,
swaying and rigging,
let’s talk of how we will
how we are about to,
how we have planned to,
let us talk of how we should,
how things ought to be,
about the pipeline dreams,
the f*#@ng hope,

let us talk and talk,
drink to it,
buy more rounds to it,
till we see blurred lines,
and slurred vibes,
whet the parched throats,
and dull the riotous minds,
and the ruckus of our thoughts,

if we don’t talk,
what shall we do?
Cry?
Scream?
Go bonkers?
Strip naked?
Or shall we roast our genitals,
Like the Ugandan lady swore to,
And write obscenities on the wall
For the world to see
Or maybe we should talk nothing
Listen to the silence
And vibrations of our times,
The startled beats of our hearts
The wavelengths,
The synergy of our words
Or we should just shut the F@#*k up
And DO MORE!!!!

Posted in Musings, poetry, Rants, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Forget the Cliches; at least for Once

image

I wanted to write you a poem,
For valentine;
Or a song, or a memoir
You know, the type scratched on paper
Naturally horrible handwriting
Sealed with love and a kiss…
But words failed me…
Rhyme went to the dogs,
I couldn’t find the right metaphors,
Or anecdotes, to put it across

I also wanted to send you flowers
The type that has been nicely clipped
Roses without thorns,
Fresh and packed in beautiful foils
In the hands of that old lady at the corner
With tiny glittering water drops…
With nothing but smell of nature
Fresh and happy
But what would flowers be to an African queen?
For they wither with short a time,
But I thought of a tree instead…
A sign of what I think of our future
Continuity, growth,
A blessing to the world…

But for now I’ll send a whisper,
Through the winds,
A loud whisper of what this love bug is..
To you, to me, to us
I thought of what love is…
Like what love is,
See,
Love is you, love is me
Lost in each other
Love is future,
Love is now,
Love is a tornado,
A whirlwind
A wild girl,
Without a care in the word
Love is the past
Etched in a memory,
of a setting sun, and morning scents,
And beautiful smile
And doped eyes…
Love is what we share …
A word without definition,
An unwritten song,
A missed heartbeat…
A finally discovered gravitational force
Whatever that is…
Our love is like a copied assignment,
Where there are a thousand and one things we
Can’t explain….
Our love is a storm
With a sure beautiful sunshine
Our love is a verb,
A semicolon
; see, like that sign,
a sign of unending sentence
our love is what we feel when hurt
a solace in a desert,
a cool pool in an inferno,
a haven,
a brook…

I am grateful,
That I found you…
Perfected in our imperfections,
Raw, green,
Fresh morning dew…
First rays of the morning,
An in between of an ending cold,
and a joyous warmth of nature…
this is to you,
to us,
to forever….

Posted in Love and Beauty, Men and Women, poetry | Tagged , | 1 Comment