Saturday, January 28, 2012

Farmer Poet's Revolt

With pen held close to his chest he thought,
He believed and he pursued his poetry
No currency was sufficient for the lines to be bought
As his poems were his oratory
To change the old world
Where people die everyday
Commands he who has the sword
And a skillful drama at every corner and promises for a street play

The lines cared little for a rhyme
It cared for a hymn
Which would be for the mass
To challenge their struggle at every grass

And so he wrote and filled up pages with his gibberish
To wake up the society still feverish

He believed that the words would one day carve a new dawn
Where it was the same between the king and the pawn

One night, late after he completed his daily poetic shit
Prepared he was to dance to his new heart beat
At last he had found those lines
And believed he, no one could challenge the coming times.

And with the greetings of the wooden cuckoo
At early morning two
Knocked his doors a never heard before hand
Strange voice calling his name informed he and his writings were banned.

Tears had no choice but to wait while angry Jose opened the door
Faced the black hat pair, show caused them he with his sickle, his only weapon, a revolting poor
They smiled and told him they were the agents of the sovereign
And for this unruly act he must go to the prisoners inn

Defiant Jose, ran the sickle in the air
Six chambers filled came out a revolver
Two distinct gunshots piercing the calm
Saved four, and Jose lay in his own bloods arm.
Not a single one ran to his rescue
The smoke from his hut came down as dark dew

Died Jose not alone but with his dear lines
His poetry received their funeral
But cold Jose was not buried
For him there were no spines .

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Disloyal Confession

Why did you love me so much
An option you had to not love
And desperate to cry that today I am
Realise I that my loyalty was a sham.

I cribbed, I battled
With my own disloyal self
Searched for the truth I so much
Glorified was my failure as much
Victory we sought
But wasn't ours to have

An option to think beyond my evil self
In search
I plundered my own heart's shelf
Not a book, Not a chapter on your name
Yes it is a shame

But did I ever deny that?
Did I ever disagree?
That one day I would fail your love
One day, from you, I will set myself free. 


Victory, Victory, I crib so much
Battle In my mind
Doubt of suspicion
Nervousness glorified
Not all pleasant
I think, to think beyond
Realise so much
Victory so much.

A part of CSA camp.

Happy to Think Beyond

Doubt of suspicion
Yet I try
Not all pleasant
Nervousness, rapid like fire
Desperate to cry
Doubt of fear
In my Mind
Risks aren't low
An option to think beyond
Happy so much, Glorified so much.

A part of CSA camp

I Try

Ponder in consciousness
In my mind
To think beyond
I crib, but necessary
I think
So much nervousness
Yet I try......

Part of the CSA Camp