The life of the dutiful kind

Version 2

Earlier I turned the corner, the sleepy morning had casts its fog
embracing the buildings, concealing the rivers and folding its breath
around those men and creatures who’d already risen to go find their chores.

I tightened the collar around my neck, and wondered how I could hardly remember those warm days that just had flown by, when sunrays tickled the earth to cough up the crop, and a dog that lolled in a bed of grass. The present blurred my sight, I had lost the vision of bygones and past.

“Press on, press on!”, a wind gust was urging, “life lies before you and regret’s left behind”.

I crossed the street, a figure flitted by.  A life just like mine:
joy and family, sadness and work. No sooner come, it had already gone,
and of none to no importance to me.
One day we’ll both be dead.

“Others will follow and look to the future”, the river was chuckling, when spring and summer still lie ahead”.

I shivered and shuddered; The cold or the thought? Not sure if the that water
under the bridge looked alluring for a moment or two.
I quickened my step, I pierced through the mist, and focused hard to conjure up a sun.

“No dutiful life is dire and vain”, the leaves started rustling, “you still have your autumn; and snow is too far.”

The last days of a ruthless tribe

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I realize that bearing the consequences
of my and other generations
is a perpetual mea culpa.

Our race has plundered, exploited, and killed
for hundreds of years
and still we keep going,
justifying;
not bothering

No, because
we leave for holidays away from home
we go and leisure, ski, and hike
and we do yoga and go shop.
Have a nice day.

I realize that conceding the mistakes
of my and our dominant tribe
is a distressing awakening.

Our race has ridiculed, humiliated, and crushed
for hundreds of year
and still we persevere,
explaining;
not accepting

No, because
this is our freedom of expression
these are our values to defend
this is our autonomy.
Have a nice day.

I realize that brooding on failures
of my and our pale-faced clan
is an endless contemplation.

Our race has destroyed, polluted, and changed
for hundreds of years
and we still continue,
explaining;
not realizing

No, because
we buy fair trade and organic
we recycle, safe, recover,
and donate for animals and the poor.
Have a nice day.

I realize that analyzing the behaviour
of my and our commanding kin
is an infinite altercation.

Our race has excluded, disdained, and blamed
for hundreds of years
and we still carry on,
defending;
not empathising

No, because
we are scientifically advanced
we own democracy, equality
and built our wealth all by ourselves.
Have a nice day.

I realize that looking at the hypocrisy
of my and our colour of folk
is a helpless battle in itself

and I have no clue

on how to make

all those

wrongs

right again.

The fate of the rabbit 

img_0503I have small rabbit
Caged in a box
A lone little creature
With one floppy ear

It maims but the carrots, and salads, and roots
And still it’s imprisoned on my human moods

I could though release it
Make it run free,
The fox would then eat it
And tear it apart

So I weigh the bad, the doom, and the curse
Against its survival, albeit it’s perverse

How can I establish
When good does more harm
If I am but thinking
in my poor realm

I would have to grow beyond my own zone
A frightening journey into the unknown

Where is Zambia?

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Christmas is looming around the next corner;
cards and parcels sent and received.

At the post office (I wipe off my shoes)
I send off a present to friends in the heat –

they’re home in Zambia, all to the South.
The girl at the counter inspects the address.

She keys in with verve, then halts in her moves:
“Zambia, where is it?”; she’s muddled in guess.

“African South”, I tell her surprised
(Generation smartphone, no one @ home?)

“South Africa, oh!” she exclaims in relief.
I frown and correct her, slightly impatient:

“Southern”, I stress and cannot believe.
She appears to be trapped, asked a trick question.

I feel her brain ticking, about to implode.
I give her the look (howcanyounotknow?).

Her fingers are frozen, stand-by in mode.
I wait for a minute or two or another.

Then, all of a sudden it strikes my awareness:
She won’t find “Zambia” in this one computer

In the language of Goethe, it spells with an ‘S’.
“Try then with ‘S’”(Generation X advices today).

She types again – her face now lights up.
My parcel is stamped and sent on its way.

Redemption, if you will

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in the shade of splendid words
we hide our fears
& shed our guilt
defend a house of cards
we will

in the nook of sparkling phrase
we burn our lies
& blow our myth
obscure dishonest ways
we wish

in the hint of polished speech
we store our pain
& stash our doubt
prevent an open breach
we want

but in the eye of sparkling tinge
you find my hue
& touch my sooth
redeem eternal clinch
you shall

The journal of a blistered country

angola13

The morning gust
dispersing the dust
the sweeping sound
of brooms on ground
the veil of fire
exhausting the pyre

the mumbling of the early voices
rising
to absorbing sky
the promise of the heat and hunger
crawling
on disheveled shacks

the midday low
of cattle and glow
the rustling note
of dearth’s abode
a horizon of blaze
melting the haze

the desperate cry of men and children
smothered
by relentless sand
the knowledge of enduring plight
roaming
in a sweltering brain

the evening’s weight
on absence and wait
the merciless hint
of coming day’s stint
the night on the rise
gives strife a disguise

the chilling caw of slaughtered beasts
travelling
through forgotten bush
the rumour of a kingdom come
creeping
in a desolate earth

The courage of a rebel’s mind

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cloudswimming, sunsinging
wallshifting, treelifting

Who says if all is set and done
when just one voice can crack the dawn?

goldbreaking, tearbaking
muddancing, lightlancing

Who sets the rules of whole and grail
when just one glance can tear the veil?

bloomfreezing, airseezing
moonturning, tideburning

Who carries the law of right and wing
when just one thought can down the king?

songmolding, seafolding
skychanting, lifegranting

If no one can tell of truth and prayer
why be afraid to turn and dare?

Requiem for Fugacity

IMG_0095a rip in the haze
a split in the rays
a seed in the bloom
a room in the womb
a print in the cloud

so not
to
end
in a
grievous
shroud

one drop in the air
one line in a prayer
one seat in a town
one gem in a crown
one truth in a lie

so not
to
end
in a
rueful
sigh

we deal with life’s board
to lift off the sword
that hangs as a threat
and tend to forget
what is our lot

to
matter
at
all
or
probably not

Idle Curse of a Pretentious Broad

IMG_0105Poison seeping from my bones
dripping into convenient veins
beguiling stomach, heart and brain
till dust and rust are left to call

No hunger nor ache
no sickness nor chain

I have a roof and people to love
a work to pursue, a talent to hug
my mind is not shut
my body not bent

There should be no poison
to savage my soul

Luxury problems,
vanity fair,
when I should be dancing
like Sundays in May

Sculpture © A.Tallil

Lesson for the Disoriented

DSC01154I am Northwest
the moss of the tree
the damp, the dark, the direful me;
the one that only the brown owl can see…

My malice,
my caution
will keep you away.

I am Southeast
the grape of the vine
the luscious, the luring, the magical kind;
the one for which all creatures do pine…

My kindness,
my ardour
will both reel you in.

And if your compass is out of control
you may well have lost the cardinal pole
There is no need to look for direction
as I am far gone from any detection

All life collapses

IMG_3462You (Yes, you!) who swallows that petrol
until your mind turns raven-hued
You thought it’ll last forevermore
Mind you! Life always asks for what it’s dued

D’you think the subduer would never crawl?
D’you think that empires were never to fall?

All life collapses
all systems must die

We are but a few; you can kill us away
yet change is born in simple hear-say

You (Yes, you!) who munches that money
until your eyes turn round and gold
You thought it’ll flow forevermore
Mind you! Life firmly does not what it’s told

D’you think the walls would never crumble?
D’you think dictators were never to tumble?

All life collapses
all systems must die

We are but a few; you can kill us away
yet change is born in simple hear-say

You (Yes, you!) who vomits those dogmas
until your lips grow white and rigid
You thought it’ll con forevermore
Mind you! Life clearly is all else but frigid

D’you think the flat earth wouldn’t alter?
D’you think fanatics were never to falter?

All life collapses
all systems must die

We are but a few; you can kill us away
yet change is born in simple hear-say

And the mighty, the holy and upper crust
are all transformed to common place dust

Prayer of the Weary

Picture 033Shut my head
block my eyes
forget, forget that I’m alive.

Greys of rain-twines irk my being
enough, enough, you springtime fleeing!

Bolt the house
secure the yard
recall, recall that I am marred.

Browns of mud-rows vex my substance
begone, begone, you winter’s nuisance!

Break the rigour
blast the frost
reveal, reveal that I am lust.

Reds of sound-strings quiver my core
Come on, come on, you riot times’ lure!

Libretto for My Beloved

IMG_1244Epilogue
Look me up when moonlight calls, roll me in your gentle dreams
soak me with your animus
and guide me through your reverie.

Take me on this twilight fancy, hold me in your lunar gaze
wrap me with your starlit laugh
and chase away those mares of night.

Prologue
The sun purloins nocturnal cloaks, strips us bare of cosmic bonds
tend me through the days of ire
and lead me back to evening’s tomb.

Of Meadows and Alleys

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Let ’em out, the somber horses
let ’em pound the stones and sludge
let ’em run on nightfall’s ardor
’til they trampled all those forces

Let ’em out, the piercing orders
let ’em smash the flame and glee
let ’em screech on suntime’s field
’til they blasted all those borders

You toy around with all my essence
looking out just by yourself
you leave behind a trail of dust
where once upon a meadow lived

Let ’em out those eager dogs
let ’em maul the brawn and hope
let ’em race on daydusk’s garden
’til they gorged on all those togs

Let ’em out those sordid slanders
let ’em bang the sense and wit
let ’em crush the forenoon’s laughter
’til they stirred up all of those angers

You dance atop my all that is
running forth all on your own
you leave behind a path of shivers
where once upon an alley curled

The Chorus of the Doomed

IMG_1888A girl who clutches her trembling legs
her frame for final salvation it begs
there is no protection to obtain
just crude abuse; an innocence to feign

A boy who clenches his bony fists
no flesh is remaining on his wrists
there is no morsel left to chew
just groaning void; an ache to subdue

(Chorus)
Who looks after those
who mankind simply throws
bogged down by their destiny
left to simmer in tyranny?

Tell me, all you society’s helper:
Will the rich, the monarch or the despot give shelter?

A woman who lies in wretched waste
with scars and marks her body is traced
there is no hope for her to spare
just raw ordeal; an oblivion to wear

A man who cries to no avail
is caged in ruthless poverty’s jail
there is no money here to squander
just vacant treasures; a survival to ponder

(Chorus)
Who looks after those
who mankind simply throws
bogged down by their destiny
left to simmer in tyranny?

Tell me, all you society’s helper:
Will the rich, the monarch or the despot give shelter?