Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Ashen Cheeks




She plays by hearth,
Almost at the same spot where she was given birth.
It been four years since.
Despite the ash on her face and cheeks,
All can see she will be even more beautiful than a queen.

She runs home crying and alone,
Rivulets of tears breaking the gray of her ashen cheeks.
Gushing from her eyes, tears of pain, humiliation and determination.
Skin ashen, for they could not afford even petroleum jelly.
Never again, will they call her The Ash Queen.

It is the Friday after Ash Wednesday:
She is preparing for her ‘first real date’.
It is going to be a good Friday,
She muses at her own muse, as she applies scarlet on her lips,
Before dusting her face, overdoing the ashen cheeks.

In the Twilight Zone way past twilight,
Makeup well fixed and the inner eye fixed,
On getting her shine on and then a fix.
Clothed in a skirt that barely covers, her never-now ashen ass cheeks.
Still her glitter-covered face in the lamplight’s harsh glare, has ashen cheeks.

Drained of all colour she leaves,
The clinic where she just saw, the ashen skin.
Face drained of all colour, ashen cheeks.
From where lives are snuffed out and cremated,
The ashes to be thrown, in an Aspen creek.

In the Twilight Zone, way past her twilight,
The lamplight’s harsh glare, covering her crow’s feet.
Powdered-up face, plastered smile grim.
None can cover the bruises,
On her ashen face skin.

She is dead now, truly got ashen cheeks.
A ritual must be performed,
To ward off her wayward seed.
Her grandmother gathers ash and apply it on her behind,
The ritual’s success is focused, on her ashen ass cheeks.

(NB: It is rumoured that those who don’t give birth in Kikuyu land have ash applied on their behind and their grandmother sits on their stomach. This causes ‘flatulence’, blowing off the ash. This is believed to make their spirit of non-reproduction vanish like the ash does in thin air. I don’t know a case of this happening personally nor a first-hand account. Everyone say they heard from someone who heard from someone who saw/heard of it happening).







Nevermind




In my last lifetime I visited Nevermind;
A land dead because it’s ‘almost alive’.
A land in which we loved, but never with our hearts:
The interest lay in our interests, not too deep in our minds.

A world where we were never alone;
Shirking loneliness, we sought misery’s company.
A world of fake exuberance, to cover our sorrows.
Where our laughter, almost rang hollow.

Last summer I lounged in careless abandon;
Sat on a beach chair, where for fantasies, dreams are abandoned.
Where we lost grace in empty pews as we prayed for pardon:
For guilt and regret, tagged on and tugged on.

Last night the devil called, and I almost heeded the call.
Last night Jezebel motioned, and was almost swayed by her lotion.
Last night the past almost overshadowed the future.
Last night Nevermind sank and was lost, forever in my mind.

(Inspired by Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King)




Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Life's Song

Sing, the mind on its first breath rush sings
Forcing a wail from deep within the just-opened-for-business lungs
Welcome to the world, and will it make you sing!

Sing, if not yet, then gurgle and spin
Your arms up and down and the joy will be seen
Little angel do sing.

Sing, the catchy TV melodies and childhood tunes
Enjoy this moment, it's gone too soon
So go on  and just sing.

Sing, let the whole world know you are mad.
Sing along to angry and dark lyrics and the gothic mimic.
It's a healthy way to deal with raging hormones,
You might as well sing.

Sing, of icons past and done deals.
To prove your intellect, your mind needs.
Mind you, more than a few will mind:
Still, go on and sing.

Sing of betrayal and of hurt
Affairs past and of lust and hearts full of wanderlust.
It's a sign you have a heart.
We feel you, so sing.

Sing, of the perverse and as an art.
There is always someone who wants and needs
To hear what you sing.
So for them do sing.

Sing, and join the jubilation of two now joined as one.
Wedding songs and wedding bells
Rising with happy voices as one.
The crowd as one, dances and sings.

Sing, my heart to the Lord and all he has done for me.
Rejoicing for the child I now hold in my arms.
Joy unbounded, I am lost for words.
Still with shouting I sing.

Sing, a song of accomplishment in the old age.
A song of contentment with the onset of sunset.
For even in the night,
We still will sing.

Sing, a dirge and in passing
The heavy hearts will sing.
The unbearable pain evident,
In the song they sing.

Sing, of those who passed away and of their great deeds.
Of the times and love we shared, for the time they were let be.
Living on, in our minds and in our hearts,
and the songs we sing.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Spare Me


Spare me,
A penny; begs the human being,
Who life has kicked to the gutter.
As you pass by aloof…
And under your breath
A curse mutter.

Spare me,
Cries the little girl as the being
She understood protects her
Acts not as a human being
As her innocence…
Is shattered.

Spare me,
If not for me for the one within
Begs the soon-to-be mother
Even as the darkness gathers
After the air by a boom…
Is shattered.

Spare me,
Cries the old woman
As they slowly advance towards her.
Brandishing their pangas
Short sleeved or a long sleeve…
They ask in laughter.

Spare me,
I’m too young to take a life or be a soldier.
Why do I have to fight…
For something I do not believe in.
I want to learn to use a pen not a gun
And play, not rape, for fun.

Spare me,
I got mouth to feed
And others that rely on me
Someone and places to be.
People and dreams coming true
To see.

Spare me,
Not with gold nor with silver.
Neither with time nor with love.
Spare me but a thought:
What would you want me to do…
If I were you and you were me?