Put down your spade that digs the hole
Where all your dreams have gone,
And drop the heavy handed blade
You bled your memories on.
Let go the voice that cried in vain
And burnt away your soul;
Come on, my brother, take my hand,
For we are going home.
My brother was called point five since his walk
Was like that of a lass and likened much
To dames that were abiding far; his speech
Was quite high-pitched, possessing girlish touch.
The folks he was acquainted with would breach
Rules made, not one or two or three but each.
When I was awakened this morn
From a kip that lasted too long,
Humming were birds one adorb song,
One that I’d oft heard in Cape Horn.
I’ve built a world inside of me
Where nothing can go wrong,
A world where only I can go,
A place where I belong.
Oh, mansions seen embellish narrow streets,
Each of which is graced by dire slums as well,
And every man who dwells in slums defeats
The filth of their soul to escape pain, hell;
And each who weens karma exists not meets
Death like those who believe in strength of knell.
The miners’ spines have slipped their discs, made crooked by the sack
Containing all those minerals and dignity in chunks,
In lightless labyrinth lunacy their fingernails turn black,
Their faces smeared in shadow like the cassocks worn by monks…
When you were thrown right into darkened, foul pits,
Each of which snatched your chilled-out cheer, chastised charm,
I wept, wondered if ever you’d sense the harm
Caused by ones that laughed, staring at you like kits;
The snakes sometimes squirmed like worms you’d detest
While en route to work fields that gleamed on Earth,
And like raged, raging winds hoping not to rest,
They oft assailed and harmed and caused great dearth.
I suggest you now grasp that heart’s core
Is illumed by none but God; thought ain’t vain.
Same is force that guides the worlds galore,
One birthed by a chaste woman. Prized lore!
Lambasted love couldn’t even minds
That shall float now, forever,
Be born again to be dead, gone.
That is life’s nature; it quite binds,
Creating love in ways clever
In order that worlds may move on.
Could you will to enquire where we are caught,
And why the ball of fire has not touched us?
Give it some time, give what’s been said a thought
Before you put your questions, making fuss.
The stars greatly glowed when the night was young,
And the moonlight gleamed, glistened upon seas;
It looked as if the stars were lights well strung
By men who would prize nothing but calm, peace.
Hence, worlds that exist in our very small vision
Are just lies mirroring truth;
But what the true truth does is work illusion
Thus causing pain, agony, and ruth.
You tell me you know best,
That there’s none that can best you;
Shall I put you to test
So I could find out what’s true?
There are days when I oft rue
The friendship we did share
When does come a blazing loo
That tells me you don’t care.
He does inhabit rooms that oft look like glooms,
Oh! But he prizes all he’s got, come what may.
He visits us with brooms, helps each man who dooms,
But I find it sad that he has got no say.
The few months that we were compelled to stay home,
He came, collected our dirt, greeted all in warm tone.
And when morning was unfurled,
I did open my eyes to sight
Blueness of the sky so deep and grand
That revealed the Saviour’s power and might.
And I wondered then if there was some site
Where His great vision might never land;
I cognised soon there wouldn’t be light
if He left our little world.
Let this year rouse the knight in you that sleeps;
Each moment let the wakened you rejoice.
New days will bring new beginnings in leaps;
Year after year you will attain more poise.
Make wise decisions, let there be no hate;
You will obtain what you desire, my mate.
This year we worked from home, to our workplaces said ‘buh-bye!’
And then at home we joyed with our beloved ménage, kinsfolk.
When March bade to each of us that sad and alarming ‘Hi’,
we did confine ourselves to our homes, thus becoming broke.